I was as good as naked and pretty much helpless, tied up the way I was when Dad got home from work earlier than I expected.
My Dad stood in my bedroom door and looked at me. I stood looking right back at him, hands cuffed behind me and arms tied to my sides, my legs tied at knees and ankles. And I had nothing to hide my sex.
All I had on was my mom's garter belt and a pair of her stockings. Oh, yeah, and a pair of her highest heeled shoes. Red shoes with ankle straps, which were my favorites. Given that the white lace garter belt didn't cover much of me (it certainly didn't do anything to cover my boobs and mound) and the stockings were pale brown nylons and pretty transparent, I guess I might as well not have had them on.
Dad looked kind of surprised - which I guess he had every right to be. Not many fathers arrive home and find their only daughter in self-bondage at this time of the day.
Come to think of it, they probably don't find their daughters in self-bondage at any time of the day.
I don't know what my father was thinking as he stood staring at me, but it wasn't anything like the things I was thinking. Sure, he didn't look mad, or hurt. He wasn't screaming but there was something different in his eyes. However as I was only 14 and I hadn't got a stitch of clothing on, my thoughts were crystal clear.
The words "Oh shit, am I in trouble now" ran through my head.
I tried to say, 'Uh, sorry Dad,' but the tape gag I had plastered over my lips - and the sock I had stuffed in my mouth - made it come out like a sort of grunt. I was aware my face was burning with embarrassment and I must have looked quite a sight.
The nearest I could come to hiding myself was to hop in a pretty ungainly way round so my back was to him. It was fairly pointless as he'd seen everything I had to offer by now, though maybe being tied with my legs wide apart would have beaten this. At least all he could see of my pussy was my fuzz.
I was fumbling with the lock on my toy handcuffs behind me, but the small lever was worn and it was always awkward to undo. It was worse now because I was panicking. I'd tied myself up as I usually did, starting with my ankles and knees, gagging myself next and then adding a couple of loops of rope round my upper arms and chest before finally cuffing myself. They might have only been plastic handcuffs but they were good enough to give myself the illusion I was secured properly.
I looked over my shoulder to see my father glancing round my room. It was the usual untidy affair that constitutes any teenage girl's bedroom, except my school clothes were scattered on the floor. I'd got in from school, stripped quickly and set about tying myself up first and foremost.
It was what I did most days when I knew the house would be empty. An hour of tying myself up with my mouth full of some home made gag and then, after I had fantasized about being a kidnap victim, I'd release myself, bring myself to a couple of orgasms and then tidy up my things.
I'd even got the time down to a fine art, sweeping the last evidence of my kidnap obsession out of the way as mom walked in.
Not today though. Dad was home early for the first time in years and here I was, a 14 year old schoolgirl playing the part of a sexy young woman made captive.
Great game, but about to go completely wrong.
The illusion I was someone's prisoner and completely helpless got me off. had done since I was twelve and watched a cop show with an heiress kidnapped in her underwear. That's bound and gagged kidnapped and really, really helpless. Well, I was certainly helpless now and my face was burning bright red. And still I couldn't the damned handcuffs off.
I guess I expected Dad to be angry or shocked. But a slow, casual smile spread on his face and he stepped over to me and looked me up and down. 'I see,' he said, quietly. He could see I was trying to get the cuffs undone. He could tell I was struggling.
But what happened next completely floored me. My father picked up the tape I had used to gag myself and peeled off a strip. Without a word he wound it round my cuffed wrists, pinning them together. Then he tore off another strip and wound it round my fingers so I couldn't even begin to reach the small lever on the cuffs. Or I guess, stop me picking at any tape I might reach.
He didn't say a word - and didn't look at me - as he took more tape and wound it round my upper arms, just above my small but (I like to think) perfectly formed tits, really pinning my limbs to my body. I'd never had my arms secured this well before. In the two years or so I'd been tying myself up I'd never found a really good way of tying them tight. Now my father was doing it for me, and as far as I could see he wasn't anything like mad. He seemed to be smiling slightly, like he thought this was fun.
I still don't know what my Dad thought but I was getting a pretty good idea. He used more tape on my knees, both above and below them, as well as my ankles. Tight, the way I like it, and over the ropes I had put on. I guess that sealed the knots.
Only when he'd finished did he stand up and look into my eyes. 'Well, Tiffany, guess you just found out what it's like to be really tied up now, huh? So as your mom won't be home for a couple of hours, guess I'll leave you like this.'
I stared at him over my shoulder as he retreated, my mind seething with confused thoughts. I was ashamed and aroused, excited and scared at the same time. I watched my father walk out of my bedroom and shut the door behind him. I was left alone, tightly bound and gagged. In case you've never tried self-bondage, it can be good but nowhere as stimulating when someone else ties you up.
I had just found that out.
In the silence of the room I began to struggle against my bonds. Then a fresh alarm inside me: He'd said two hours before Mom got home. Was that how long he was going to leave me like this?
I tried to call out, asking Dad to come back and release me, but I'd been too good at gagging myself. If he heard anything from my room, through the closed door, it wouldn't have made any sense.
A slow panic filled me. I couldn't stand for two hours like this, could I? And if mom came home, what if Dad showed her what I'd been doing? He could even tell her that all this was self bondage, however impossible it would have been for me to do all this.
Unless my mom thought a lot about bondage she would think I had done it all. This way it was all my fault.
I also knew that even if Dad thought this was some joke then Mom wouldn't. She would be real mad.
She'd probably be most mad that I'd raided her underwear drawers to dress like I imagined a 23 year old heiress might dress. I had, I must tell you, been grateful she had such a young taste in underwear. I'd had it all on at some time or other when tied up: the teddys, the merry widow, the garter belts. Not her brassieres as she was way bigger than me in the bust, but everything else.
Even her nightdresses. The ones with lace ruffles and little bows. Sexy, which was I guess the point of them.
I stopped struggling and stood flushed and flustered, wondering what the hell to do now. My bed wasn't too far away and slowly I inched my way towards it, shuffling as best I could. I figured that if I could somehow get myself on it I might be able to wriggle out of this. But even if I couldn't, at least I could rest and get my energies back.
Rigid from my bonds I fell on the bed in a bad way, almost bouncing off it as I hit it. It was an old bed and creaked dreadfully - I'd been told off before for jumping on it and making it sound through the house. I lay across it at an awkward angle, wondering if this had been such a good idea.
That was when the door to my room opened and Dad came in. He regarded me with a small smile and for a moment he thought he might untie me. But he simply took my ankles and guided them to the floor and then levered me back up to a standing position. 'You tied yourself in a standing position Tiffany so that's how you should stay,' he said quietly.
I made a few desperate 'mmmphing' sounds to show I didn't want to stand, didn't want this at all, but he ignored me. Instead, he placed a chair on my bed and piled a couple of boxes and a good few books - plus my computer printer - on the bed. If I tried to fall on it again, I'd hurt myself.
Eyes wide and pleading I stared at my father as he made sure there was no place on the bed I could sit or lie. But without even a glance in my direction he left me alone again, standing silent and immobile by the side of my bed.
I stood and shook. I wasn't sure if it was from excitement or fear. I'd got what I wanted but not in the way I'd ever thought. In all the two years I'd been tying myself up I'd tried several things but nothing as effective as this.
Time passed slowly as I stood there, legs and arms aching, my gag beginning to hurt my jaw. I got the feeling Dad wasn't joking about leaving me till mom got home.
I felt I couldn't stand much longer so I did the only thing I could. I dropped as slowly as I could to my knees, gasping into my gag as my weight hit the floor through my knee caps. As I expected, my mom's nylons gave me zero protection.
It also had an effect I hadn't considered: now I was kneeling the tape my father had put round the ropes on my knees ensured the bonds tightened with the change in my leg muscles. It hurt a lot but I could hardly get back up to relieve it.
I knelt like that for as long as I could bear it, worried about the circulation being cut off if I sat back on my heels (which wasn't exactly comfortable with mom's high heels on) and feeling a real pain in my knees if I managed to kneel upright. Then I did the only thing I could think of. I fell sideways, body bent forward to reduce my height and keep my center of gravity low.
It still hurt when my left arm and shoulder hit the floor.
But at least now I could straighten back out and take the pressure of my knee bonds.
I lay, blinking back a few tears. After all kneeling and falling had hurt. Then a small glow slowly spread in me. I was a prisoner. A real kidnap victim, right? A properly tied up and gagged prisoner of some kidnapper. This was what it was like being abducted. I had been made to undress to my garter belt, stripped of my panties and then tied up. Gagged so I couldn't call for help.
My crazed captor had left me standing. Knowing I would have to kneel eventually. Kneeling and then falling over, knowing it would all hurt me.
In a perverse way I felt better being like this. Knowing I was being held against my will.
Mom didn't show up. Just dad and he grinned at me as I lay looking up from the floor.
He had pair of scissors and crouched to snip the tape off me. Then he rolled me on my side and released the small lever on my toy cuffs. Without a word he left me to finish off untying myself, removing my gag and getting dressed. I remembered, of course, to put my mom's underwear back where it belonged in her room.
There was no sign of my dad anywhere so I went back into my room and having cleared my bed, sat rubbing my aching muscles.
I was alone in my room not knowing what I should do now. I checked the clock. Mom would be home in a few minutes, so dad's timing was good.
I sat and wondered if he'd known about this already. If he knew or guessed about my secret world of self-bondage he had never dropped a hint before. But how could he know? Even if mom had said something about her underwear being disturbed, how would that make a connection to me tying myself up, me playing the helpless heiress who was stripped and kidnapped?
I had always hidden my toy handcuffs and ropes and gagging material on top of the closet in an old shoe-box among several other boxes. I always tidied up good.
Of course, I could ask him what he knew but even that seemed a daunting task. Teenage girl magazines for all their articles on petting and making out and relationship with boys and other important dilemmas didn't seem to have agony aunts advising on how to ask your pop about tying up.
Self bondage and intense fantasies of being kidnapped in lingerie were one of those things you just had to cope with yourself. For a fourteen year old, that was pretty hard and I knew I was on my own.
Telling a friend might have helped but trusting them not to tell was the risk I couldn't take. Kind of sad that I couldn't even tell my best friend Shania but sometimes Shania Grover was just too much of a tell-tale.
Moreover, Shania's mom may have been a friend of my mom's but she was a teacher at my school. If Shania knew things she sometimes felt she had to tell her mom. I really didn't want the school finding out about my fantasies.
So reluctantly I had kept it to myself, consoling myself that kidnap victims don't get to tell much anyway. Not if the snatch is done properly and the gags fit.
Mom was home. I could hear voices from downstairs. I opened my bedroom door and listened: normal conversations, things from work. No shouting, no crying. No one storming up the stairs to demand what I had been doing. I went back and sat on my bed and wondered just what would happen - and what my father might say to me eventually.
He would have to say something in time even if it was only 'Nice pair of tits, honey.'
Maybe I could get courage to ask if he knew. But then if he said "Know what, honey?" I'd have to back out quick. Somehow saying this was a one-off event and I had no idea what I was trying to do didn't seem to ring true.
I took a deep breath, checked my room was as tidy (or teenage girl untidy without any ropes lying around) and went down stairs.
Perhaps I shouldn't be so paranoid. It was a normal, fairly boring evening. Mom was fine with me, talking about school, homework, Mrs Jenson's kids, the neighbors. Not one word about borrowed garter belts or self-bondage. Incredibly Dad didn't even look at me in any kind of funny way. He just watched the ball game on TV as if nothing unusual had happened.
Perhaps I should have been worried. It wasn't natural that Dad wouldn't mention something so dramatic. I went to bed that night and couldn't sleep. Sometime around two in the morning I got up and checked my box of self-bondage things, to see if was there or had been disturbed.
I didn't know how anyone would have done it without me knowing but I examined it carefully. No one had been near it. But then maybe Mom thought no-one but her had been near her underwear or had worn her shoes.
And if Dad had somehow been watching me and what I did he'd know how to cover things up.
I went back to bed none the wiser but a little bit more paranoid.
It was three days later - at the weekend - that Dad said something to me.
He hadn't, on the Thursday or Friday, come home from work early. I hadn't got my ropes out. I hadn't snuck into Mom's lingerie drawers either. Sure I wanted to but I was too scared.
I thought, as Saturday dragged out, the matter was closed. Maybe Dad was too embarrassed at me being naked to mention it. Maybe he thought he had scared me enough to stop me doing it again. Maybe he thought he was being cool with his teenage daughter. Maybe he couldn't think of a way to bring the matter up.
Maybe I should have given him more credit. He waited till Mom had gone shopping and then sat me down in the living room. Cool as anything he said: 'Tell me about Wednesday night, Tiffany.'
I blushed. I had a short skirt on and my reaction was to pull it down towards my knees as if covering myself up, like I was still on show. 'What is there to say?' I said.
'You were supposed to be at cheerleader try out. What happened?'
'I didn't want to go.'
'So tell me about what you did.'
I gave a small "uh-I-dunno" gesture.
'I'm really fascinated by the outfit,' he said, sitting back. 'I can understand the lure of tying yourself up. Kids have always done that.'
My father nodded. 'I expect half your grade has in one way or another. Perhaps not at your age, but when they were younger. Tie up games we called them when I was about ten or so.' He shrugged. 'You grow out of it. Mostly.'
I didn't know what to say so I just shrugged back.
'But the clothes. Your mother's clothes.' Dad emphasized the mother part making me wriggle a little in embarrassment. 'Where does that come in?'
I gulped and said: 'Uh, kids dress in their mom's things. Kinda growing up thing I guess.'
Dad shook his head. 'You were four when you last did that. That's the age you do it, having your own playbox with some of your Mom's old clothes in. Pair of old shoes. Hat. Fancy necklace. But... a garter belt and stockings and spike heels?'
I blushed bright red.
'Tied up and dressed up. I'm curious why you do it.'
I jolted. That was do it, he said. Not did it. That meant he knew it was regular and he knew about the times before. 'Dunno,' I said sheepishly.
'You do,' he said.
'I might have done it. I don't do it anymore,' I said hotly, jumping up as if a show of indignation would end the matter.
For about three weeks, it was.
I wasn't out of favor in any way I could determine. Dad carried on as if nothing had happened. He made no mention of our little talk, didn't get home from work early - if anything he seemed to be putting in extra hours at the office.
'Earning some money, I hope,' said Mom. It was her way of saying, "not having an affair or going drinking and gambling."
I wondered which was worst in her mind - and how drinking and gambling were connected.
I also wondered if I dare go back to what I most fantasized about. Dressing and tying and being a victim.
I guess that the only choice you have if you are unsure of something is either not do it (and always wonder about the result if you had) or try it again and see what happens (and maybe wonder why the hell you did it again). I chose the latter though I had no idea when this might happen.
I needed a clear day, not a rushed evening listening for a car in the drive.
Just as I resolved I would have to be patient, Mom got a call from her sister, aunt Elaine, on the following Friday evening. Could mom go over and see her on Saturday, maybe stay till Sunday?
Mom said yes straightway, as it was some sort of family crisis (aunt Elaine was always having them) and so the way was clear for me.
Mom wanted Dad to drive her over to aunt Elaine's as she didn't want to drive all that way on her own. As it was a 400 mile round trip he would be gone for most of the day.
Mom asked me if I wanted to go for the ride with Dad but I said I had homework to do and wanted to met Shania at the mall later. They both understood and I waved them off, having promised Mom not to do anything stupid while she was gone.
Dad though didn't say anything, which made me wonder some more.
I waited half an hour to see if they came back for anything they'd forgotten. When they didn't I went up to my room, laid out my toy cuffs and the other things I'd need to tie myself with.
I went into mom's room and went through her underwear, choosing a black corset with red cups and a red satin inlay on the front. Yes, I did wonder why a 36 year old woman with a regular job in insurance and a family home in the 'burbs wanted such hooker underwear but I didn't care. It had slut written all over it and I figured some wealthy 23 year old heiresses got off on the tramp look.
I fished out some black stockings and my favorite red high heels to go with it. And a couple of pairs of mom's panties to stuff in the bra cups to pad them. Like I said, I'm not as big as mom.
As I had lots of time I was going to take it real slow. Especially if I wasn't going to get many opportunities ahead for doing this.
I planned I would be hogtied for no reason than it took me a little longer than any other self-tying to get it right. At least, right by my standards.
Arranging my bonds wasn't easy but I managed to get myself face down, gagged of course (though this time with a scarf knotted in my mouth) and with my cuffed wrists fastened with a loop of rope to my tape bound ankles. I lay there, quite pleased with my efforts and determined to lie for an hour as if I had been captured by a kidnapper.
As usual, I made urgent pleading noises into my gag as if begging to be set free. I tried to say things like: 'Oh please don't hurt me,' and 'I promise I'll be good if you don't spank me.' I have to say I've never been spanked except when I tried it with a hairbrush on my own bare ass a couple of times. It was a nice feeling but the thought of it happening while I was bound was the best.
Of course, I couldn't be spanked in this position I knew. But hey, fantasies don't have be real.
What I really enjoyed though was just being bound. After three weeks without this was heaven.
Wriggling and moaning was fun and I tried not to think that I could easily get out of my self-bondage. I had been lying there for some twenty minutes, thinking maybe it was getting near the time I could think about my next position when I thought I heard the front door click.
My heart froze. I lay terrified, hardly daring to breathe. I couldn't hear any other sounds and as I finally dared to breathe I began to wonder if it was my fevered imagination. Still, better to be safe than sorry: as Mom and Dad would be miles away by now I had no idea who would come in. Anyway, hadn't I locked the door?
The house was silent and I relaxed.
That was when my bedroom door opened and Dad was standing there, grinning at me. I stared at him, unable to believe my eyes. I said - though the gag reduced my words to incomprehensible grunts, as a good gag should - 'I thought you and mom were going to aunt Elaine's!'
My father didn't say anything in response to my gagged grunts and came over to the bed. He stood, hands on hips, looking down at me and scooped up some of the spare rope I hadn't used. While I gurgled in shock and embarrassment, Dad proceeded to tie my hands tighter behind my back over the top of the cuffs and then retie my ankles to my hands, arching my body in the severest hogtie imaginable. There was no doubt he knew what he was doing and in a few moments, almost before I had overcome my shock he had me tied tightly so I was truly helpless, shoulders hauled back and ankles up to my wrists.
I was hogtied for real. better than ever I could have done on my own.
There was some of the tape I had used to gag myself by the bed (I'd got it out in case the scarf gag didn't work) and without a word my father tore off a couple of strips and wound them round my face, pinning my gag deeper into my mouth. Then he tied a last piece of rope round my wrists and taking the long, loose end to the bed frame above my head. Once secured, I realized I could only lie in the position he'd put me.
I couldn't roll over and take any pressure off my front.
Dad grinned at me and left me alone.
In the space of less than five minutes I had gone from a self-tied fantasy to a strict hogtie. Even if I hadn't been gagged (either by my hand or by my Dad's) I don't think I could have gotten over my shock at seeing him.
Plus, if he was home where the hell was Mom?
I admit I really grunted into my gag now and even tried to get free. But where I could get free from my own efforts, once more Dad had secured me properly and I was truly bound and gagged.
I must have lain there for an hour though I can't be sure. It's hard to estimate time when you are bound but all I could do was listen to my clock ticking (I couldn't see it from where I lay hogtied) and for Dad coming back. But apart from hearing the odd, distant sound which could have been him moving around the house was silent. I even wondered if he had gone out again, which filled me with panic.
But the greatest panic was he had come back with Mom and she would suddenly burst into my room and scream at me. I'd get in the neck about the ropes, the gag, her corset, her shoes. And I'd put a run in one of stockings I think.
Mom didn't burst in. And dad didn't come back either for ages.
All I could do was lie there and start to think, hey, this is what it's like to be really tied up when you're kidnapped.
As much as I liked the idea, the reality was different. It was for real as my stretched and strained arms were really hurting now and the gag was getting uncomfortable. I tried to call out, saying okay, I'm sorry, you can untie me now. But my gag was too good, the bedroom door closed and I guessed dad wouldn't have come anyway.
I lay, trying not to feel the pain too much, trying to ease my arms and shoulders. Huh, a pointless exercise.
My father appeared at my bedroom door again, and I felt both embarrassed (still) and relieved he would release me. I was sure of it. As soon as the gag came out I was going to tell him I had really, really learnt my lesson now.
However my relief turned to pain when he reached over me and aimed ten hard smacks at my bottom. He delivered the blows to both of my ass cheeks and I admit I howled into my gag as tears came to my eyes. If you have never been smacked, the fantasy is better than the immediate reality but, as I found when Dad got up and left without a word, the after effect is gradually wonderful. A glow slowly spread through my sore butt and I lay, luxuriating in the submissive feeling I had been spanked while I was properly tied.
Dad came back twice more and did the same, though perhaps no more than fifteen minutes apart. Each time he spanked me hard it hurt and made me cry but each time the after glow was great. Between my bound legs I could feel my pussy getting wet.
Then I wondered how much more I could take. Where was Mom and how many more times would I be spanked? I figured I had to try and get free on my own. However try as I might all my efforts to get free were pointless. All I could do was lie silently, blinking away my tears and enjoying the feelings on my ass and in my pussy.
But I also wondered why I was being spanked. Was this a punishment? His way of disciplining me? Well, I could hardly complain. I guess I deserved something for what I'd done.
The fourth time my father came into my room I braced myself for a repeat spanking. This time though he started to untie me, freeing my restraining bed frame rope and then untying my ankles. However he left my wrist ropes on (though took off the toy cuffs as I didn't need them) and even used some of the rope to tie my arms above my elbows and secure my arms to my body, winding rope around my chest.
He was careful not to bind my breasts, putting the chest ropes above and below. He even pushed mom's panties back into the corset cups where they'd slipped out when I was severely hogtied. I thought at first it was to cop a feel of my boobs but he seemed to carefully avoid touching my bust.
The ropes on my chest were delightfully tied and I could appreciate how a real victim must feel when tied up so tight they can't breathe properly. Dad left my gag in and then proceeded to walk me out of my room. I was a little shaky on my legs and wondered where the hell we were going.
For a sickening moment I thought I was about to be paraded in front of my mother, though I soon found out I wasn't as he led me into his and Mom's bedroom and there was no sign of her. My dad put me in front of the large mirror, turning me so I could see how my arms looked tied properly and - just as importantly I guess - how red my ass was from the spankings he'd given me.
I felt my face cheeks burn as I looked at myself and saw how he saw me - a slut in fetish underwear and no panties. A well tied slut, I thought.
I was aware my father was smiling at me. I felt weird, standing naked and tied and gagged in front of him while admiring myself in the mirror. I guess he was amused by what he saw.
I don't know what was going to happen next but what he did he did surprised me. He took hold of my arm and guided me to the closet. Not his, as it turned out when he opened the door, but Mom's. There were all her clothes hanging on the rail. I was confused but he pushed me towards them. That was when I saw the chain locked to the rail, between mom's skirts and dresses. There was a short chain dangling from the rail and as my Dad maneuvered me between mom's clothes, he was able to loop the chain round my neck and close the padlock at my throat, making me stand quite straight.
'Don't try to move and you'll be quite safe,' he said, and leaving me standing among mom's skirts and blouses and dresses, he closed the doors.
It wasn't entirely dark in the closet. Enough light leaked in that after a short while I could make out the clothes around me. Above all, I could smell them. Mom always wore a heavy perfume and it clung to her clothes. In fact, the odor filled my senses and I could think of little else. The cold chain at my neck had warmed up and it felt nice, in a bondage way, to have the weight of the chain and the padlock on my neck. I was scared I might fall but as Dad said if I didn't move I was okay. I tried not to move at all.
By now I was pretty confused. I had no idea what was happening now. I had decided however that Mom couldn't be home - and then the thought hit me hard. What if Mom was meant to find me in her closet like this, in her corset and stockings and heels? What would she think of me stuffing her pants into the corset bra cups?
I renewed my struggle with the bonds. It was, I had to admit, an unequal struggle and I gave up.
I don't know how long I was there but it felt like hours. A couple of times I swayed, thinking I would faint. I was hungry and thirsty and though the bondage was a little less stringent it still hurt. Then Dad opened the doors, flooding light in - late afternoon light I noticed - and making me blink. He didn't say anything but unhooked the chain from the clothes rail but not my neck.
'We need to talk,' he said and led me downstairs, holding the neck chain as if I was some dog.
As I expected there was no one else in. A ball game was on TV and I could see by the beer can by his usual chair he had been relaxing all afternoon while I was tied and chained upstairs.
He sat down in the chair but left me standing, chain dangling, shifting my weight from one high heel to the other. My ass still felt slightly warm from the spankings and my face still felt hot with embarrassment at how naked I was.
'You seem to have really had some fun,' he said to me, looking me up and down. I couldn't tell if he was angry or pleased or even if that was what he expected.
I grunted into my gag, not sure if I was saying yes or sorry or hey, it happens. Whatever I was trying to say I couldn't stop coloring up.
'Well, Tiffany, I guess Mom won't like it you've been at her clothes again when she finds out. I guess you might have to show her.'
I gurgled and blushed deeper. I was convinced my father would leave me like this all weekend till Mom got back. Panic widened my eyes, making my father laugh.
'I can see you like the idea,' he chuckled. 'Oh, and in case you were wondering, your Mom is fine. I put her on a train to her your Aunt's. I couldn't face the drive there and back - and anyway, I kind of thought you might be waiting for me like this.'
I gulped and nodded, as shamefaced as I could be. I could feel him studying me, eyes on my pubic hair, no doubt trying to see my slit through the fuzz.
He stood and took my sopping wet gag out. I stood silently, working feeling back into my jaws. 'Thanks,' I said quietly.
Dad had dropped the wet scarf on to the table and sat back down, waiting for me. 'Okay, now you can speak you can tell me what this is about.'
I took a deep breath. There were no excuses, no place to hide. It wasn't a one-off or a game. 'It's, um, about kidnaps,' I began, not daring to look at him. 'I have - had - this fantasy about, uh, wanting to know what it was like to be kidnapped.'
He listened to me without comment, without interruption. He was, I knew, good at listening. I told him about the TV show, the heiress fantasy, the way I wanted to feel what it was like. I told him that I'd done it before, that it became more than a game.
It was an unburdening and I felt better.
He stood and untied me, telling me to go and tidy up. Then, he suggested, I should go down to the mall and get Mom a new pair of stockings for the ones I'd ruined. Out of my allowance, of course.
'One more thing,' he said as the last bonds came away. 'Kidnapping isn't romantic. It isn't nice clothes and expensive underwear and cosy ropes.'
I looked at him questioningly.
'Your self-bondage was, I guess you could say, nice and safe. The way you did it you could move, get some relief and ease your aching muscles a little. You can't always say a real kidnapper would be so kind.'
I nodded and fled, grateful there were no more tight ropes, no more spankings, no more threats of Mom being told.
I was cured, I told myself. I just had to get it out, tell someone about my fantasy.
I'd heard that when you tell someone about a fear or a secret or obsession you have it all becomes smaller, less important. I felt that way and the rest of the weekend passed without mention of what I'd done or what was said.
But hadn't this happened before, I thought? He'd caught me twice and the first time seemed to ignore it. Let it go like now. Was this going to be the pattern again? In three months time if I wanted to tie myself up again would Dad somehow be there?
Would he spank me harder as a punishment, or retie me really severely? Would he finally say Mom had to know, and show me to her all bound and gagged?
And why didn't I take the opportunity when we were talking of finding out how he knew what I did before? But the opportunity was gone.
Mom came home from her sister's and there were no scenes, no rows, no trouble. I could even sit down without my butt feeling sore.
It was a week later when Dad dropped the bombshell.
He didn't even tell me directly - at least not face-to-face. He called by phone on the Saturday morning while he and Mom were heading to aunt Elaine's for another supposed crisis. It never ceased to amaze me how Elaine's simple divorce from her no-good husband had to involve the whole family.
I had got up, late as usual, and found Mom getting the last of her things for the trip. I stood in the kitchen watching her bustle around. I could see Dad outside loading some bags into the car.
'I know it's inconvenient,' said Mom looking hot and bothered, 'but Elaine needs me there. Dad will drive me over as the train was delayed last time. We'll be gone until Sunday night I guess.'
'Uh, dad's not just taking you there and coming back?' I asked, not sure whether this was good news or not.
'No, he said he'd stay. Help me sort of, um, smooth a few ruffled feathers. Now, there's pizza in the freezer,' Mom began to list all the things I might need while they were away.
I was sure Mom was glad Dad would lend his help. Elaine was high maintenance even when things were going well. But where did that leave me?
Home alone, evidently. But dare I get into some of Mom's lingerie? Could I risk tying myself up? The memories of last time Dad found me were still strong. But then, if he was away all weekend it was good news, surely. Two days of intense self-bondage, a chance to try on lots of Mom's underwear.
I had a doubt. I quite liked having an owner, someone who kidnapped me and made me do things. It won't come as a surprise to you that I had masturbated over my strict, father-applied bondage and spankings every night since.
I waved them off with Mom telling me if I didn't want to be on my own I could always call Shania's mom and ask to stay at her place. 'Mrs Grover said it was fine to call anytime. Anytime at all,' yelled my mother as they pulled away.
Now that wasn't what I wanted. As Mrs Grover was a teacher at my school it was kinda hard to relax at her place. I went in and waited, unsure that Dad wouldn't still come home soon. Not sure what I do I watched TV for a while and watched the clock. I had decided if he didn't return by one I'd get something to eat and have an afternoon in self-bondage. Perhaps get some more ropes out of the garage.
It was ten before one when the phone rang. It was Dad, and I wondered if this was some warning. It was, in a way I didn't expect.
'Hi Tiffany,' he said. 'Mom and I are on the road and stopped for a meal. Thought I'd call you and tell you to be careful.'
'Meaning I asked someone I know to kidnap you this weekend. Show you what it's really like.'
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. After a moment's silence I said: 'Uh, excuse me? I didn't quite hear that right.'
He spoke slowly and clearly. 'In the next 36 hours someone will kidnap you, Tiffany. I arranged it for you.' I could tell he was smiling. 'So be very careful. You never know who will be watching. Bye, honey.'
He put the phone down and I stood, heart pounding, a knot in my stomach and a sense of unreality in my head. Had he really said I was going to be kidnapped?
This was a joke wasn't it? He'd called with a warning of sorts but the message was "Don't dress in Mom's things and tie yourself up all weekend." There was no kidnap: he just wanted me to stay out of garter belts and ropes.
My thoughts galloped through a landscape of doubts before I took a deep breath. 'Shit,' I grumbled to myself. 'What does he think I am? Some scaredy-cat kid?'
I walked round, turning things over in my mind. I knew what I wanted to do but was worried, even confused. Why hadn't he just told me to stay out of self-bondage? Why call from some out of the way place? And anyway, who the hell did he know who'd want to kidnap a fourteen year old girl?
Then I thought maybe he knew all sorts of people we'd never met or heard of...
On the other hand, fathers don't have their daughters kidnapped. No, this was just a lame attempt to stop me doing what I wanted.
The phone rang. Dad again I guessed with some other dopey idea.
It wasn't Dad, and certainly not Mom or aunt Elaine. There was someone on the end of the phone listening, not saying anything. They didn't respond when I asked who it was. Suddenly scared, I hung up.
I had the feeling this wasn't a joke any more.
I looked through the windows at the street, thinking that some black car would be parked watching the house. It was the usual street scene. No strange cars, no criminal looking guy hanging around watching the house, no punk leaning on a tree just staring. I went and locked the doors, drew the blinds. I admit I was frightened.
I thought about going and tying myself up as I'd promised but it struck me that even if I could relax into it, someone breaking in and finding me tied up would have half their job done.
I sat on the floor, back to the wall, feeling insecure.
The phone rang and I didn't know whether to let it ring in case it was that freaky listener again. It stopped ringing and started again. I couldn't bear it and tentatively picked the handset up, just listening. To my relief it was Shania, wanting to know if I wanted to go to the mall. She and her mom would pick me up if I wanted.
Yes, I said. That would be great. Great because I wouldn't be on my own.
'You don't seem very well,' said Shania's mom when they dropped me off. 'You've been real quiet while we were out, Tiffany.' She looked at me concerned. She may have been a teacher but at least she was kind to me - at least out of school.
'Yeah,' said Shania. 'You hardly ate anything. You sick or something?'
'Um, it's just my Mom and Dad being away, y'know this stuff with aunt Elaine.'
They knew. Mom and Mrs Grover were friends.
'Honey, I know kids of your age want to be on their own but there's no point being alone in the house. You could come over to our place. Your mom asked me if it would be okay and I said sure. You could spend the weekend at ours.' She paused and grinned. 'I won't mention school or grades or homework once.'
'Yeah, we can have a sleep-over,' said Shania enthusiastically. 'Dad's away this weekend so there's only me and Mom there.'
Mr Grover was always away on business, I reflected. I used to tell others that they kept a picture of the Shania's father by the front door otherwise they'd never recognize him when he got home.
'And I'm busy with books,' said Mrs Grover, smiling at me. At least she didn't call me Sweetpea as she usually did when she was trying to be too friendly.
'Go on,' urged Shania.
It seemed a whole lot better than being on my own, I thought. Sure, I wouldn't get to tie myself up but if there was someone looking to kidnap I'd be safe at the Grovers.
I agreed and started to get out of the car, saying I'd get my things. I hesitated. 'Uh, I know it's weird but I don't want to go into the house on my own. Y'know, burglars.'
'I'm sure it's quite safe but I do understand,' said Mrs Grover. 'Shania will go with you.'
I felt better. Even more so when no one jumped out on me (or Shania for that matter) as I hastily grabbed my pajamas and overnight bag.
The weekend was good - well, as good as I could expect from spending time with one of my teachers. I felt far more secure at the Grovers though I admit a few times I sneaked a look outside, looking for the black car I assumed always accompanied kidnaps. There was nothing to see.
Mom called in the evening, having got no answer at home. She was relieved I was fine and staying the night at the Grovers. She said Dad sent his love.
That night, lying on the blow-up mattress in Shania's room we talked in the dark, telling each other things. I hesitated to say anything about my self-bondage and my Dad and the kidnap threat. But I did take the opportunity to ask about kidnapping in general, steering the conversation to the subject. 'You ever think what it'd be like, just being sort of taken away?'
'You mean the cops? Mom'd go mad if I was in trouble with the law,' said Shania from her bed.
'Not the cops,' I said, staring up into the dark, heart beating hard. 'Y'know, kidnappers and stuff.'
'Kidnappers?' Shania laughed. 'No one's gonna kidnap me. Anyway, Mom and Dad can't afford to pay much for me.'
'But if they did, you ever think what it'd be like?'
'Like what? Some hairy assed redneck with beer breath putting you in a sack?' I could tell by her tone she was pulling a face.
'I was thinking of something more, uh, pleasant.' I paused, taking a small gulp but trying to be casual. 'I mean, y'know, like they were nice. And you actually found you liked it.'
'What's to like about being kidnapped?' I could tell by her voice she had propped herself up on one elbow. 'Anyone who thinks so must be nuts.'
'i meant, not liking it at first. But, sort of...' I hesitated. 'Thinking it was cool later.'
'Only a pervert would want to be locked up by a weirdo. You think you'd like it?'
Thankfully it was dark and she couldn't see me blush bright red. 'What?' I tried to laugh. 'Ugh, no way!'
I thought: time to stop. I felt a tad disappointed I couldn't open my heart but this wasn't the time.
After a minute Shania said, 'You worried about being kidnapped?'
'Me? Oh no! Like, who'd kidnap me?'
'Dead right,' said my friend, settling down on her bed and yawning noisily. 'Uhm... They wouldn't get much for both of us.'
I grunted, pretending to be drowsy. Money, I told myself, wasn't the point of being kidnapped.
I lay awake for a while, listening to Shania's breathing change as she drifted off to sleep. I lay awake and tried to listen for sounds on the stairs, doors opening. But it was wasn't my house and the night noises in this place, though unfamiliar and occasionally alarming, didn't sound like Dad's kidnapper coming in.
In time I fell asleep.
Sunday was interminable. Even looking out of the window to check the street didn't help pass the time much, or jumping up when there was a knock at the door.
Mrs Grover must have noticed how restless I was. 'You really need to take it easier at the weekend,' she said as I sat fidgeting at the window, staring out. 'I know it isn't easy right now with your aunt and all that business over the divorce, but your mom and dad will sort it out. No good staring out the window so much. Just relax - you're all wound up, sweetpea.'
I hated when she called me that but she was right. I was wound up. I smiled at her as best I could. 'Oh, it's just that there's this boy, lives near me. Kevin's his name,' I lied as fluently as I could. 'Uh, he asked if I'd like to date but I don't like him. Not my kind. I sorta worry he's gonna come round and follow me.'
'Kevin Fell? Or Kevin Walensky?'
I groaned inside. I had forgotten Mrs Grover would know every Kevin for miles around - or at least those at the school.
'Oh, no. He doesn't go to our school. I think he's at, um, Maple. Or West Valley.'
Mrs Grover shook her head. 'Well, sweetpea, he won't know where you are this weekend will he? Unless he has a tracking device on you!' She laughed gently. 'Anyway, I wouldn't worry about boys just yet. Time for all that later.'
I nodded as if accepting the wisdom about boys of my age and came away from the window seat.
But I still looked out when Mrs Grover wasn't around, relieved to see nothing unusual outside.
It was four on Sunday afternoon when my Mom called Mrs Grover. They were on their way home, should be back by six.
'I'll run you home, Tiffany,' said Mrs Grover as the clock headed for six o'clock. 'Oh, Shania, I need milk from the store. Could you go and get some for me while I take your friend home?'
'Mom!' objected Shania, but she went anyway. 'See you tomorrow, Tiff,' she called over her shoulder as she hurried out.
I waved to her and went to get my bag. 'Thanks for having me over, Mrs Grover.' I felt suddenly better. I was safe from kidnap now. Whoever dad's kidnapper was he hadn't got to me. 'Being here... It made me feel safer.'
'Of course,' smiled my friend's mom. 'Safe from kidnap.'
My heart froze and I stared at her. She had something in her hand, a cloth of some kind. I turned and tried to shout for help, for Shania, for anyone. But the cloth went over my mouth and nose, stifling any noise. I tried to struggle but the woman was stronger, everything seeming distant as if I was looking down the wrong end of a telescope. Like they say in comics, everything went black.
I had no idea where I was when I woke up, other than I was tied to a chair.
It took me some time to focus on my surroundings. It took me a little while to clear my head and realize I couldn't move. It took a few more moments to understand I was bound. Oh yes, and gagged too. I knew because I felt this something between my teeth and when I called out all I heard was a strange, muffled noise.
My arms and wrists were tied behind the chair I was sat on, not painfully dragged back but good enough to stop me moving much. There were, I could tell, ropes over my chest but not crushing my boobs, ropes at my waist and lap and at my thighs, knees, ankles. My legs were spread wide as they were on either side of the chair seat.
Given that I was naked, the effect was to make me feel completely helpless and exposed.
I wasn't slumped, because my head had been tied back to something. I worked it out that it was a high back chair of some kind and my gag was a combination of something in my mouth (a ring gag as it turned out, in case I guess I heaved in my drugged state) which in turn was tied to the back of the chair. I was also aware of a strap of some kind round my forehead, to help keep my head still. I just had to sit and stare straight ahead.
It was hard to tell my surroundings. From what I could see in the near total darkness - a faint glow came from the edges of a door - I was in some basement. Or windowless attic.
I had been kidnapped, just as my father said would happen, and my kidnapper was Mrs Grover. I snorted at the cleverness of it all. I had been so sure that any kidnapper would have to be some seedy male that I never thought it could be anyone. And yes I had to trust them enough.
Mrs Grover, my friend's mom, a teacher, friend of my mother, was so perfect. I could see now how people might be kidnapped. Nothing dramatic, no snatch by strangers. Just someone you knew and never suspected.
I shivered, largely because the room was cold.
I tried to wriggle because there was something solid and large up in my ass. I don't know why, but I understood at once it was something placed in there - a butt plug, I'd heard it called. It felt big and awkward and I had no idea why it was there.
Okay, I sighed to myself. My father had made his point. Kidnapping wasn't as enjoyable as I thought. No lingerie, no romance. Just tight ropes and a gag and being exposed. An cold and in a strange, dark place. Okay. I had learned my lesson. I'd tell Dad when he came to release me.
I tested the ropes for the tenth time in as many minutes. Nothing gave, no matter how I wriggled. I figured the ropes had been cinched and tied at crucial leverage points to stop me wriggling. I had to hand it to Mrs Grover for what she'd done. I would never have guessed she was so good at this.
I sat and wondered if she knew I was awake, that the show could be over now. I tried calling, despite the gag. My grunts merely echoed in the cold, bare place. Yep, it sure was scary in there.
The light at the door didn't increase, the door didn't open. I imagined Dad would come to set me free, asking if I had learnt anything. But Dad didn't come through the door. Nor Mrs Grover. I even wondered if Shania had been in on it and our midnight talk about kidnapping was just a bluff.
But no one came and time dragged by. I struggled harder, yelled louder, to no effect. I felt cold and very scared. Surely they'd check in on me?
No one checked, and the light outside the door went out.
I don't know if I slept much at all that night, crying and shivering as I was. The ropes weren't cutting off any circulation (I remembered Mrs Grover specialized in biology, so she probably knew about pressure points and arteries) but the chair was hard and increasingly painful where the edges of the wood dug into my arms and legs. Even my butt was screaming for relief. Plus I was drooling from my gag. I felt the saliva dribble out, splash on my chest and boobs before growing cold.
My tears too ran down my cheeks, dripping from my chin to add to the wetness on my chest.
I felt bad and imagined I looked even worse. I sobbed, begging someone to come and release me. No one came.
I began to think that something had happened to Mom. Surely she'd ask where I was and dad would have to confess there'd been this joke, this prank. Or she'd called the police and they were searching, maybe taking Dad downtown to ask him what he knew.
But no sirens wailed. No one broke the door down.
Anyway, where had Mrs Grover taken me? Whose house was this? I didn't think they had an attic. I'd been in their basement and it wasn't like this. Wherever I was, how would the police find me?
I cried and moaned as loud as I could.
Eventually, a light grew round the door. Not an electric light, but daylight. Surely they'd free me now.
I really had learned my lesson.
I was drifting on the edge of a weird light sleep, still cold, still hurting though most of my tied body was numb.
'Sweetpea?' it was Mrs Grover's voice in my dream. I opened my eyes slowly. The room was light from the open door. Mrs Grover was standing over me. 'Wake up Sweetpea. I've got a busy day ahead of me,' she said lightly.
'Mrs Grover!' I blurted into my gag. 'You gotta free me - this is a mistake. Help me!'
'Hush, Sweetpea, don't get so excited. I have no idea what you're saying but then, I guess I don't need to.' She was smiling at me, a mixture of mild concern and satisfaction on her face. 'That's why you're gagged, so I don't have to hear you beg or plead or demand or whatever. Not even scream.' She snickered. 'You know, I never heard you once last night.'
I stared at her and gurgled something about her house. She hadn't taken me anywhere, so that question was answered. I gulped as best I could.
'I'm going to give you some breakfast. A little concoction of things that will keep you alive.'
Alive? Panic surged in me. I struggled weakly against my ropes.
A small cloud crossed Mrs Grover's face. 'Oh do be still, Tiffany! You were always such a fidget in school. You want more ropes on you?'
I shook my head, terrified. What was this crazy woman going to do to me? I could see in her hand a bottle, like a baby's feeding bottle, full of some yellow-white liquid.
I was scared, not knowing what this was, unable to stop her putting whatever she wanted in my ring gagged mouth. I struggled and yelled senselessly into my gag.
The woman shook her head and turned the bottle upside down, letting the warm liquid drip on to my legs, on to the seat between my spread legs. 'I'll let this all drip away until you stop making that ruckus and accept that you can't do anything.' Her voice was cold. 'The longer you fight the ropes and make that ridiculous noise the more of the only food you'll get today will go to waste. You want to stay here hungry?'
I shook my head as best I could, eyes wide in terror. I stopped making the noise and fighting the ropes.
Mrs Grover smiled without much warmth and turned the bottle the right way up. 'This,' she said quietly,' is a special drink that has all the nutrients you will need for sitting around doing nothing all day. Milk, essentially. It will taste unpleasant but that isn't my problem.' The bottle came up to my ring gag and to my surprise it fitted perfectly into the ring gag. The teat was on my tongue, the foul tasting liquid - warm, fortunately - was dripping into my mouth, running down my gullet. I swallowed as best I could.
Mrs Grover sighed as she held the bottle in place. 'I shall try to get something to do this automatically. I haven't got time to do this all day.'
I drank in gulps, scared of it filling my throat and choking me. It was worse than foul and as I swallowed I wrinkled my nose.
'You may be interested to know it contains various bitter herbs to make it very unpleasant,' smiled Mrs Grover as she watched the level fall in the bottle and my reaction to it. Before the bottle emptied she pulled it away. 'That's enough. Don't want you getting fat.'
She set the bottle down out of my sight. 'Okay, let me tell you what I have to do for you today. First, I have to go to school as normal. It's after seven. Then when the news gets out you're missing I will be interviewed by the police.' The woman was bending towards me, her eyes fixed on mine. 'Don't worry, the plan is good. Shania went out to the store, I was gone when she got back. I was taking your overnight bag to your house, though she would have assumed I was taking you home. You, sweetpea, were up here already drugged though not tied.' She looked round the room. 'This is a very special secret room in my house. Thin, small, but very secret. Not even Mr Grover knows about it, but then he's rarely here.'
I tried to say, 'What about Shania?' But the woman ignored my grunts. Maybe her daughter didn't know about it either. She'd never said anything to me about a secret room.
The woman was enjoying telling me this. 'I had a key to your house and let myself in and put down the bag, messed up a few things and left. Your mom and dad will have arrived home later and wondered where you were, what the mess was. Oh they called and I said you were fine when I left you in your drive and no, I hadn't gone in with you. I even - as a good friend - went and drove round the streets last night looking for you. Trying to be helpful.
'So, today the police will talk to me at school. I will tell them you were acting strange this weekend, worried about some boy called Kevin.' A small laugh. 'Now that was a very good idea on your part. Even Shania noticed how you were and she'll tell the cops how restless you were. It's good to have an innocent supporter like her. Meanwhile your mom and dad will be beside themselves, not knowing. Of course your father does know as you might have gathered. He and I planned this carefully.'
The woman stood and started to undo her prim, gray box jacket and then to my astonishment began to unbutton her dark red shirt. As it came open, I saw the red cups and red satin inlay panel of a corset. In an instant I knew it was the one I'd worn when Dad caught me. 'This,' said the woman, 'is my favorite piece of underwear.' Even in the limited light in this room I could see she was enjoying this enormously, running her hands over the smooth fabric of the cups. 'This by the way wasn't your mom's. It was mine and became part of the trap we laid. You see, your father and I have been having an affair for ages. Your father likes me in this when he fucks me though I don't need padded tits like you!'
Had she said fuck and tits in the same breath? I didn't think Mrs-oh-so-prim-and-proper Grover used words like that. There again, I didn't think she drugged, kidnapped and tied-up teenage girls.
She began to close the shirt up again. 'When he found you playing your little self bondage game he was home early to fuck me at your place. For once, my husband was here so we were going to use your house. You, if you've forgotten, were supposed to be at cheerleader try out.' She was smiling. 'I even saw you, through a crack in the door, all self tied like you mattered.'
I groaned. Things were falling into place nicely for these two.
'Now you stay there for today, Sweetpea. Oh it will be very uncomfortable and real boring.' She had finished dressing herself, back to smart teacher mode. 'But try not to struggle. You won't perish and you won't escape. The door to this room is locked and hidden, the walls soundproofed. The chair is screwed to the floor so you won't be able to move it - yeah, I've seen movies about kidnaps, how the poor heiress manages to topple the chair.' She smirked at me. 'I have taken the liberty of pushing a butt plug inside you to stop you pooping. This room would smell terrible if you did that. As for peeing, go ahead. The chair seat has a hole in it just below your pussy and a tray on the floor. Do enough of it and I might even let you drink it,' she laughed.
I groaned in horror.
'Now all this chatting and things to do. I have to get Shania to school and we have a busy day ahead of us. Tonight I'll punish you for the inconveniences you have caused me.'
My eyes widened in shock. Punished? Like how? She was turning to go but stopped and turned back. 'Oh just in case you think I'm not serious about this, that I might suddenly say it was some game, some crazy joke, let me do this to you.' She had reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a light chain about two feet long with a clip on the end. Mrs Grover stepped up to me and said: 'Now, put your tongue through the ring gag.'
I shook my head, scared.
'Really, Sweetpea! Uncooperative kidnap victims get treated real bad, right?' She grabbed one of my nipples and twisted it savagely. I screamed into my gag. She twisted harder, pain wracking me and tears rolling down my cheeks. She only stopped torturing my nipple when I put my tongue out through the ring gag. 'There, you don't have to be hurt more when I'm going to hurt you a little. That's why it's better to do what I want straight away.' She had the clip open and snapped it on my tongue tip. It hurt like hell as the clip bit into my soft tongue. She ignored my strange noises of pain and ran the other end of the chain down to the front of the chair seat, tugging it so my tongue was stretched out and down. She secured the chain to a hook of some sort, making sure it was taut.
'There, easy when you do what you're told. By the way, if it falls off in the day because you were struggling I will punish you far more severely than what I am planning. In case you're worried, it is designed to hurt but you will get used to it perhaps and it won't harm your tongue too much. I am a biology teacher and I do know what I'm doing. That was why your father was so keen on me punishing you, though he's got a few ideas of his own.' She paused. 'You won't see him for a week or two, till things quieten. But I'll tell him how well you're doing.' She suddenly bent forward and to my absolute shock licked my exposed tongue.
'Nice,' she said, planting a hand on one of my boobs and caressing it. 'I like a man's big dick in me but there's something so nice about virgin teenage girls. Hey, I get to look at them all day at school and dream,' she snickered, licking my tongue again. I guess she could feel what I did: my nipple hardening under her touch. I was ashamed but utterly helpless. Then she let go of me. 'No time for that now.' She retreated to the door and waved. 'Bye, sweetpea, see you tonight.'
She was gone, the door closed. A lock clicked. There was a scraping noise from the other side, like the door itself was being hidden.
I sat in shock and pain, humiliated and scared. I tried not to cry too much in the dark, tried not to let the clip fall from my tongue.
Mrs Grover examined the tray under my seat. 'Lots of pee,' she said with a grin. 'From sweetpea.' She lifted it to show me, a pool of piss on the metal tray. She then put down the tray, picked up the bottle and unscrewed the teat. Picking the tray up again so I could see what she was doing, she let almost all of the urine drain into the bottle. She replaced the teat and swirled the foul mixture round inside the bottle.
'The only reason I'm doing this,' she said in her flat, teacher tone as she held the bottle up in front of my face, 'was because you let that little clip slip off your tongue sometime today. Sure, if it had been an alligator clip it wouldn't have. Maybe we should use one of them next time. Anyway, I said you would be punished and you will. This is just a taster.' She laughed at her little joke.
'One thing you will learn child is that you really must do what I say. If I say don't let the clip come off I mean it. Oh, and this is extra to the punishment I had planned for you, but then you probably are hungry so you won't refuse this will you?'
Tears in my eyes, I shook my head as much as I could which wasn't very much at all. She swirled the bottle again and held it in my mouth through the ring gag. I coughed and spluttered as the cold, sickly and bitter tasting liquid gurgled down my throat. I thought I would heave but fought the feeling down.
'Good girl,' laughed the woman. She was crouching in the red satin inlay corset and stockings, having shed her school clothes outside I imagined. As far as I could see she had no panties on and her shaved sex was an all too obvious slit. I had no doubt she was dressed like this to tease me.
'Your father sends his love - oh and Shania is worried about you terribly. I have had to spend a lot of today consoling her and your mom. And talking twice to the police, largely because I broke down in tears and blamed myself for not going in with you at your house. But you'd insisted on going in alone. Oh, boo-hoo, how can I live with myself?'
She laughed and tilted the bottle more to get the last vile dregs into me.
The empty bottle came away. 'When things settle down Sweetpea you will have a shower, maybe a proper meal. Of course, not when Shania's here or my stupid, busy-busy husband is around. We'll get a bed of some sort in here, get you stretched out. And as soon as we can your dad will be over to see you and help me punish you, won't that be nice?' The woman hadn't moved and though she was smirking at me she looked steadily at me from her crouching position. 'You think your father might have pity on you?'
I didn't know what to think.
'Answer me!' Her face darkened and she seized the nipple she had this morning, twisting it sharply.
'I don't know!' I howled. The gag did its job but my urgency must have conveyed something.
Mrs Grover let go. 'You will learn, Sweetpea, that when I ask you a question even if gagged you try to answer. Not loud and screechy but quietly. Almost subservient. Okay?'
I managed to grunt a kind of 'yes ma'am,' into my gag. She patted my sore nipple in a 'there-there' gesture.
'The police will see me again tomorrow. By the way, they talked to Shania who said you were worried about being kidnapped. How good of you to tell her that!' the woman laughed. 'In the meantime I expect they will be looking for this mythical Kevin, don't you?'
I remembered to nod in answer to her question.
'Tonight I will visit with your poor mother, your worried father. I expect, if we can get to be alone, he'll get his hand up my skirt and check I haven't got any panties on.' The woman smiled at the thought. 'But I do want to tell him how your punishment went. You haven't forgotten have you that you are due a punishment?'
I shook my head. I hadn't forgotten at all.
Mrs Grover went round the back of the chair. She ran her fingers over my sore arms, making me flinch. 'Do try to stay still. You'll have lots of things done to you, Sweetpea, in the weeks ahead. By both me and your father, so get used to being touched and handled and stroked and, well, maybe pleasured.' She chuckled at some dark thought. I felt her touch my hands. They had been tied so the were fixed to the chair, slightly apart and not touching. Not crossed at the wrists like I did when I tied myself up. I tried not to flinch.
I had figured I was tied this way to stop me hurting my wrists by twisting them, or perhaps trying to get some movement to escape. Certainly bound the way they were I was pretty helpless. I heard her tap the back of the chair.
'There's a wooden flat area here, not as thick as a plank or as long, fixed to the chair back. Your hands are tied to it through holes.' Another tapping sound, to demonstrate it was still solid enough. 'There are more holes, for your fingers. I'm going to tie your fingers and thumbs with very thin but strong cord so your hands are stretched out flat, like when someone wants to examine your palm.'
I was puzzled. This was a punishment? Uncomfortable maybe but not bad, I was sure.
'Spread them wide, Sweetpea,' she said. I did as I was told and she began tying some cords to my thumb and fingers on one hand, then the other. She worked methodically, making them tight on my left hand then going back and tightening them as my hand relaxed. Then she did the same to my right hand. It took a good few minutes as here were a couple of cords at the base of each digit and more nearer the tips. When she finished, my hand was spread right out.
I'd never had my hands tied, only my wrists. The sensation, had I been in the mood to play at my kidnap fantasy, was interesting. I tried to flex my fingers but they were immobilized. Mrs Grover laughed at my efforts. 'You think I'd be casual about this?'
I gurgled a no into my gag.
The woman came back round me and smiled down at me. She was standing close. I could smell her sex, faintly aroused. Okay, so she got off on tying up girls.
'Ah, you father would be so pleased to see you like this,' she said. 'Well, he will in time. I hope by then you are broken to my will.'
I didn't like the sound of that.
She leaned down towards me, her hot breath on my face. 'Now, I am going to give a special kiss, Sweetpea. I've been looking forward to this all day. You may be a little surprised but I don't want you to hold back. Try and put your tongue right out through the ring. Right out.'
Cautiously, I did.
The woman put her teeth on my protruding tongue and nibbled it gently. I'm not gay but it was nice in a kind of sexy, caring way. Then, to my shock, she bit harder. A lot harder, and then some. I couldn't pull my tongue back and I was yelping, my gag and stilled tongue combining to make it a bizarre, breathless noise.
She had pushed her lips, wide open, against mine in a passionate kiss without letting her grip on my tongue go. I was gurgling in pain and shock. Her hands were on my small boobs, manipulating them, squeezing, pinching.
I hated it but I felt my stretched open cunny moisten. I bucked a little in my ropes, maybe to object, maybe to want something more. She let go, broke the kiss. My sore tongue shrank back in my mouth.
'Pain and pleasure,' she breathed. 'Get used to it.' The woman straightened. 'I wanted to do that before I punished you. You might not want to play afterwards.'
That wasn't the punishment? I nearly wept.
I did when she went behind me and stroked my palms. Oh, I'm ticklish and her light touch sent me in to jerks and spasms in that hellish mix of fun and agony. I thought, don't let her tickle me like this, I can't stand it. There was a strange howling sound and I realized it was me, begging and shrieking into my gag.
If the room wasn't soundproof as she said, people would come running. Shania maybe.
She stroked and tickled for a few minutes, alternating between my hands. But I wasn't being tickle-tortured. I was going to be caned across my hands. I heard the cane swish behind me and at once a slash of pain across my left hand as the first stroke slammed into my stretched open hand. I twisted in my ropes and screamed again.
Three more strokes slashed on to my left hand and each one burnt like fire, pain exploding in my hand and spreading like a fire through my arms and body.
Mrs Grover came round in front of me, grinning, cane in hand. 'You know, Sweetpea, we can't discipline kids at school these days. Once teachers could thrash their students as they wished. Oh, happy days. Still, you can feel what it was like then. I'm just going to give you five on your right hand and then leave you. Hang in there, sweetpea. The ride starts to get rough here.'
I don't know how I didn't faint when slowly, carefully but very hard, Mrs Grover meted out the beating to my stretched right hand. Only when she'd finished and left me alone, locking the door, did the intolerable pain slowly subside into a burning agony. I was crying copiously, my front wet. I also realized I had pissed myself during my punishment and I could hear the drip, drip of my pee on to the tray under me.
I hated Mrs Grover, hated my father, hated everything about my kidnap fantasy. But mostly I hated that my cunt was hotter than I'd ever known it.
This, I realized as the night dragged by, was the real torture. Not being able to finger yourself afterwards.
Sometimes I wore a hood, whether I was tied to the chair or the bed frame (I hesitate to call it a bed) or in a hogtie, wrists tied right back to my ankles. I was glad I was supple enough to take that.
The hood was leather, with a built in inflatable gag and two small air holes. It could - and was - buckled round my head in several places to squeeze in hard. It had a collar that could be locked or attached to something. Once it was on I was dumb, blind and deaf. The only thing I knew was if Mrs Grover touched me, either with her hand or with a whip or cane.
Mostly she just left me guessing for hours.
Sometimes - with or without the hood - I was tied to the two large iron rings that had been fixed into the wall, just standing with my arms up and out. Depending on the amount of rope (or chain) my shoulders were either about to be wrenched out of their sockets or quite relaxed. I had learned that Mrs Grover could be both unbelievably cruel and heartwarmingly tender, freeing me from the crucifix position as she called it when all my weight seemed to be hanging by my wrists, gently massaging my aching arms as if she was sorry I was hurt, and then chaining me back up just as stringently as before.
Maybe putting nipple weights on me, clipped to my boobs.
Sometimes stood like that I was in high heels. Heels like my mom's - high and painful to wear from long periods. Sometimes I was in bare feet, resting on something sharp and ridged that gradually began to really hurt. Several times I stood on one leg, the other tied either to a ring on the wall or bound, ankle to thigh. That was especially painful.
Sometimes she whipped my belly and legs, sometimes facing the wall I got it across my back and butt. Oh yes, and the back of my legs. A favorite place for me to be whipped.
She whipped hard but never drew blood. Well, not deliberately. Once, when she did cut me with the whip she used, she fussed round me like an old mother hen, with lotion and adhesive bandages. She gave me a rest from whipping for a couple of days after that. But she resumed my beatings with a passion.
The one thing about Mrs Grover was she varied stuff. I was never treated to the same punishments or restraints twice. She'd say there was a lot more of these things ahead and I wasn't to worry, just to keep trying them. I would be hurt, sure, but they (she meant her and Dad) wanted me to enjoy being a kidnap victim. I wasn't sure kidnap victims were all treated like this, and I wondered about a ransom note. But she never told me if there was. Anyway, it would have been weird Dad getting the note knowing he was demanding money from himself.
Gradually, she began to allow me to flex my jaw and have a rest from a gag. Not for long and she told me any sound would mean the gag went back in and no food - that revoltingly bitter but apparently nourishing mix I swallowed - for two days. I learnt the hard way she meant it when I did try to say something.
One day she took the hood off me and smiled. I was standing in a fairly standard, back to the wall Y shape with heels on and gravel inside them. But my arms weren't holding my weight for which I was grateful and the stones in the shoes didn't seem so bad if I stood still.
'Okay, Sweetpea. Today you can ask me questions.' She dropped the hood at her feet. For once she wasn't dressed in underwear or for school. Just jeans a sweatshirt, as if she was going shopping. I figured it must be a Saturday. 'Now, let me tell you the rules of this event. You can ask whatever you want but every question is a stroke of the cane on your lovely young body. Your titties especially look as if they're ready for another beating.
'Any screaming and the gag goes back in and I will whip you hard. Any bad language or insults and the session is over. Ditto the thrashing.' She paused. 'Any statement or pleading or anything that isn't a question I can answer means two stroked of the cane.' She picked one she liked off the wall near me and swished it. 'Nod if you understand.'
'So, ask me as many as you want. Just remember I can count and you will be beaten.'
'H-how long are, uh...' I paused. It was hard to talk after so much enforced silence. 'H-how long are you going to keep me here?'
'As long as we think it takes.'
'Takes for what?'
'That's two strokes and a not very good question. I thought it was obvious: until you are broken and subservient.'
'Subservient to what?'
'Three. To your father and me. We think you wanted this but need to surrender to us. That means whatever we want, when we want. No arguing, no hesitation.' Her eyes twinkled. I imagine it was bizarre what they wanted.
I was confused about what they wanted. I thought about asking but needed to save questions. I expected to find out in time. 'When will I see Dad?'
'Four. Soon enough. When the fuss and bother had died down. Already people are starting to forget about you.'
'My mom?' I felt a surge of anxiety she might have stopped searching for me, that the cops might have given up.
'Five for another stupid question. You are - were - a bright kid at school but you seem to be forgetting the value of economy of questions here.' She sighed. 'Your mom thinks you'll come back. Before you ask, to save yourself unnecessary pain, she doesn't know when. She's not in on this.'
I thought carefully. Then: 'Is Shania part of this? Does she know I'm here?'
'Six, seven. That was two questions, which was a little dumb as one there would have done.' A pause while she flexed the cane for my benefit. 'The answers are no and no.' She didn't offer any elaboration.
I felt sick. I needed to know so much and was about to be hurt for every question. 'Okay, if I'm a kidnap victim, have you asked for a ransom?'
'Eight. Of course, but only to keep the pretense up that someone evil is holding you. Your Dad hasn't got a million dollars, anyway,' she smirked.
'This is illegal, I'm only 14.'
Mrs Grover tapped the cane on her hand. 'Ten. Two more because that wasn't a question, sweetpea. As it happens it is illegal at any age. You happen to be a developing young female (at this she sawed the tip of the cane over one of my nipples, making it swell a little with the stimulation) which amuses me and your father.'
I didn't ask the next question until she had finished making my nipple hard. 'How long you and he been planning this?'
'That's eleven. Well, ever since you interrupted our plan for a screw when you were home, tying yourself up. Now, Sweetpea, I'm concerned you won't be able to take all the caning you're running up so I'll answer what may be your next question: he and I have been having an affair for a year. Good sex too.'
I grunted, not sure I wanted to know that. It wasn't going to be my next question but at least it gave it a time scale.
Then I floored her with an unexpected question. At least I like to think it was. 'If I fantasized about being kidnapped, and wore mom's lingerie - or (I blushed at this) yours as it happened - then why do you keep me naked and not in a corset or garter belt?'
It made Mrs Grover laugh loud. 'Oh my, what a strange question. Hmmm, let's say that as a kidnapped girl you don't have a choice, though it's a cute idea. Perhaps it would be nice to have you whipped or tortured in something really sexy. Your father would approve.'
I thought she might have forgotten to add the stroke, but she hadn't. 'That's twelve. Quite a thrashing you are building up. Think you can take it?'
I almost answered then stopped myself. That was a trap to get me to make a statement.
'Well done! You are learning how to play this game. Okay, you have twelve strokes of my cane here to look forward to. As I'm itching to see you get a whupping any last questions?'
I didn't say anything. I could have asked a few more things but I had all the information I most needed. Except one, which might just scare her. 'Have the police been here and searched the house?'
She saw through my ploy with a chuckle. 'Oh, trying to be clever and making me worry. Well - and this is number thirteen - you'll be dismayed to know they have. Once to look round, the second time to search. Came right up to the hidden door but it's so good they couldn't see it. Sniffer dog too though I took the precaution of putting down a little something that covers up any scent.' She smiled, pleased with herself. 'So if that's it, let's get you gagged Sweetpea and get you beaten hard.'
She had a gag in her pocket - a big ball gag with an adjustable screw at the front to enlarge it behind my teeth. I groaned as it expanded under her careful adjustment.
Then she beat me hard. Thirteen strokes which left me, when she eventually finished, me hanging exhausted in my chains. This time she didn't hurry to tend to any damage. Or if she did I missed it as I must have fainted near the end.
'My oh my, that was real hard for you, Sweetpea,' soothed Mrs Grover later. I was on my bed frame, stretched out on my back, hands and feet fixed to the corners. She was sat at the side of me, still in jeans and sweatshirt, stroking my sore belly and boobs, avoiding the healing cuts - which didn't give her much to touch of me. She had said I wasn't bleeding now which relieved her. 'I hate it when you are really hurt,' she said. 'This may sound odd but I tried to anticipate what questions you'd ask. I was sure you'd say something like: "why do you hate me so?" and leave it at that. One stroke or two. Possibly three.'
I stared up at her. With my ring gag back in I couldn't say anything meaningful.
'Please understand Sweetpea I don't hate you. Your Dad doesn't hate you. We both love you in a special way. I mean, I wouldn't do this to Shania. I don't think she's as mature as you and isn't as strong. I love her too much to make her suffer, but then I love to make you suffer because we love what you can be.'
My head swam with this convoluted logic.
'That sounds nuts, right?' She laughed lightly. The woman hadn't stopped stroking me but had moved her hand to near my open legs. 'It's like this. When Don, your Dad, and I planned all this we both said Tiffany could be the perfect prisoner. We can punish her and tie her and make her happy. You see, I know what it's like to want something and not have it. When I was your age, no younger, I wanted a dog. No one would give me one. My parents said no. Definitely not.'
I wondered where this was going. Was I now a dog?'
'You look puzzled,' she laughed. 'As if all this is strange. Um, it was strange for me. I wanted a dog because I wanted to be one. I was all mixed up about animals and affection and loyal dogs. I wanted to be a dog because I saw it as devotion and getting love and, well... All kinds of things.'
To my horror she slipped her hand over my slit, squeezing it gently. Not sexually, but more as a comfort.
'I had a friend. She was sixteen, I was twelve. Marjorie was her name. I'm not sure why she was my friend because she was four years older than me, but she was a big fat girl who didn't have many friends, so I guess I was better than none. They had a dog, two at one point. One day I told her what my secret fantasy was.' Mrs Grover stared off into the distance. 'She didn't laugh. Said that was okay. Lots of girls want to be dogs.'
Mrs Grover looked at me. 'I don't think that's true but it made me feel better. Made me feel even better when she put a collar and leash on me, told me to get down on all fours.' 'She taught me all kinds of tricks. Dog like obedience, you could say. Even gave me a name. Not Melody, but, uh, Mutterly.' To my surprise the woman blushed a little. 'She made me do stuff. I could only bark and had to fetch things. And I had to walk around with this tail in my ass. She just lubed it up and stuck it in me. I had to wag it, which was kinda hard even if I did have these loose hips.'
I stared at the woman, desperately wanting to ask if this Marjorie had done anything else to her. When did it stop and how did it stop? More importantly, did she still want to be a dog? Then there was the question was that what she did with my father now? Did she go round with a tail in her ass for him?
Did he train Mutterly too, even with his daughter bound and gagged like this?
I was getting hot between my legs, imagining Mrs Grover as a dog. The woman sensed it and was grinning, working her hand over my mound and sex, feeling how wet I was. Rubbing round in little circles, spreading the glow.
'Time you came,' the woman said, working her finger into me. No, fingers. Behind my gag, I was gasping, astonished how aroused I had become. I hadn't realized just how much I needed a release. How much I needed this.
Mrs Mutterly Grover was smiling benignly, working me up. 'I was beaten if I was a bad dog, given treats if I was good. I was chained up in the kennel they had, when no one else was there. The dog they had was, thankfully, a bitch and as I was all that happened was I got sniffed a lot. Marjorie said not to worry about Betty as they called their dog. She'd seen this before. The main thing was that whatever happened, whatever was done to me I was loyal and obedient. A good bitch.'
I gave a strangled cry as I came. Mrs Grover looked pleased and withdrew her hand from my pulsing cunt. She wiped it on me and got up without a word.
Later, as I lay in the dark, I wondered if all that was true. Or was it a story just to arouse me? Was it just to get me to think that being obedient was happiness?
But the fingering was good. Great in fact. I went to sleep hurting and still worried, but more relaxed than for ages.
'Okay, Sweetpea, start walking. Remember, walk in a straight line, bend and touch the circle on the wall, turn and walk back and touch the other circle. I'll watch for a while and then I'll go. There's a mic wired up here, so I will be able to hear you downstairs and if I hear you stop I will be back to punish you.'
Punish? I trembled at that word. I had learned already Mrs Grover could deliver some pretty harsh beatings. To my hands, my boobs, the inside of my thighs. But I also wondered how she might here me. then i understood why I was wearing high heels strapped to my ankles and walking on bare boards. That and the rattle of the heavy chain fastened between my ankles.
'This is your exercise time,' said Mrs Grover. She was dressed, as she usually did when punishing me, in some sexy underwear, this time a black garter belt and matching bra. The kind of thing I liked to wear when I was playing at kidnapped heiresses. Like me, she never wore panties ('Panties are for pussies,' she had laughed as if it was some huge joke) and I sometimes had to watch her finger herself.
That made me feel a little jealous. It was ages since I'd had my hand between my legs though she had promised if I was good I could do it a little. One day.
Two weeks she said had gone by since the kidnapping. Ten days since she got the crude bed frame up so I could lie on the rough wood slats instead of being bound to that chair, though it was still there and she made me sit on on occasions. For punishment or pleasure. She found it easier there to kiss me and fondle me. But no fingering.
The police investigation had, she told me, drawn a blank. Mom worried endlessly where I was but she'd gone back to work. Dad too. But I hadn't seen him here so far.
'If I can't hear you walking I'll know you've stopped and it's time for you to be punished.' Mrs Grover was her usual efficient schoolteacher self. Just she dressed like a whore, that was all and was as cruel as could be.
I began walking, arms secured in an arm-binder in the back, chains rattling.
Unnecessarily perhaps she swatted my ass and I gasped into my gag. An ordinary jaw stretching ball gag. I hadn't had much exercise and I struggled in my restricted walk to the mark on the wall in front of me, wobbling on my five inch high heels. My feet hurt in them and I wondered why I'd ever thought they were sexy. As directed, I bent and touched the mark on the wall with my nose, straightened and then carefully turned to walk back to the mark some fifteen feet behind me, concentrating on my walk so I didn't stumble but aware how helpless I was. How my boobs jiggled, even with the weights clipped to my nipples.
Mrs Grover said she liked seeing them swing with weights on them, especially when I was whipped.
She must have watched me do this humiliating, awkward and increasingly uncomfortable walk at least thirty times. She was frigging herself and her cunt smell filled the air. By the time she turned to leave - no doubt satisfied - my legs were aching, my back objecting and my nose was getting sore - but I hadn't finished. 'Carry on, Sweetpea,' she smirked and left my room, adding: 'I'll be listening for that lovely rattle.'
The door slammed but wasn't covered up. Mr Grover was away, again. Shania she said was still going out in groups with her friends, looking for me. Not realizing I was in the house the whole time, silenced and locked away.
I carried on walking back and forth. The way I was secured was uncomfortable but also oddly arousing. Yet as well as all my physical discomforts - which were slowly becoming more painful - the noise of the chain was irritating. However I was glad it was so loud as I had no doubt the woman would punish me hard if it stopped.
But I began to sweat at the effort. Maybe because I was flushed, or excited - or maybe because the room heated up in the day - I was soon perspiring. Trickles of sweat ran down my face, down my bare chest between my pained, weighted titties. I had to call them that, Mrs Grover said. She had breasts, I had titties. When I had tits, when I was full grown, that was what they would be called then.
I shuddered. How long would that be, kept here while she measured them and felt them and whipped them?
For an hour I guess I walked up and down, gradually every fiber of my being screaming in agony. My nose felt bruised, my arms and legs and back ached. From my gag, drool escaped dripped down my naked chest to add to the sweat. Above all, the endless clanking of the chain filled my senses and soon, tears of pain were rolling down my cheeks. Not for the first time I was regretting what I'd done in allowing myself to be caught in self-bondage.
I must have walked up and down a thousand times and at every step the pain grew a little more. I began to feel dizzy and disorientated.
Yet I couldn't help get aroused at all this. Periodically a spasm or surge would tingle in my cunt. I decided it was weird, suffering and walking like this with my sex alive and juicing up. I guessed Mrs Grover knew about reactions, sexual stimulation. Or was this some bonus?
I hurt in a dozen ways and wondered what was going to happen next?
I soon found out. Just when I thought I couldn't walk up and down any more, that my nose couldn't take any more (as I'd got tired my nose was more often that not bashing the wall rather than lightly touching it) my father came into the room.
I stopped and stared, astonished to see him. He looked relaxed, happy.
'Okay, Tiffany, stop right there,' he said with a smile, looking me up and down with a satisfied nod. 'It seems you enjoy this kind of thing,' he added with a smirk. 'I hear you have been a good victim for Melody. That's Mrs Grover to you. But I'm here to help punish you, not praise you.'
My father had something in his hand: a strip of cloth and what looked like a pair of black lace panties. 'These,' he said holding them up, 'are a pair of your mother's pants. She won't miss them, being all concerned where you are. But these are cute huh? I figured it was time for a change of gag, then you can take a bathroom break.'
My mom's panties? Surely he wasn't serious? But he was. I stood helplessly as he removed my gag (warning me not to say anything but just to merely exercise my jaws silently) and then after a few moments of me gratefully flexing my jaw he pushed the black lace into my mouth. 'Don't worry, Sweetpea (damn, was he going to call me that as well?) they're clean. They taste quite different to soiled ones.' As he said that, his eyes sparkled but I sensed he wasn't joking.
The cloth strip he had was a silk scarf of my mom's. He told me as he placed it over my bulging lips and lips and secured it behind my head. To stop me pushing it out he put a patch of tape over my covered lips and up over my lower face. I had to admit, if I could speak, the lace on my tongue was weird but pleasantly exciting.
The chain at my ankles was removed and with a hard slap on my rear I was told to get to the bathroom. Dad opened the door and pushed me through. I'd been out before a few times when the house was empty and Mrs Grover had taken me for a shower, dressed in my white rubber body harness and matching gag. And to use the toilet when my crotch strap was removed.
'You'll need to urinate,' he said, guiding me to the pan, pushing my shoulders to make me sit. 'But that's all this time. Just sit on the toilet and pee. No poops, no farts. Oh and legs wide apart, I want to see what you do.'
I sat, blushing at this new humiliation, being talked to like this, having to show him how I peed.
He stood watching me piss and smiling. Then, and I couldn't help myself at this, I farted.
'Well,' said my father softly, looking at me, 'guess that means more punishment.'
I gurgled into my gag and shook my head. I was sorry - couldn't he see that?
Melody Grover appeared at the bathroom door, nose wrinkled as if there was a bad smell. 'I heard that disgusting noise. And I can smell it too! You think she's asking for punishment?'
Dad put his arm round the underwear clad woman, drawing her close. 'Begging for it, I'd say.'
They kissed, his hand on her breasts, feeling for her large nipples. The ones I'd sucked that morning while she masturbated. Mommy's morning treat she called it when she pressed her nipple into my mouth and told me to suck and lick.
'Let's get her whipped,' whispered Mrs Grover as she broke the long kiss, 'Right here and now, tied over the toilet. Then we can get to bed and leave her to make whatever smells she wants.'
It was my time of month and I had to wear several Kotex pantiliners folded in my mouth rather than in my cunt. Clean, I am relieved to say. They were taped in and though they didn't keep me as quiet as a real gag it was symbolic, they said. 'Stops up a filthy mouth,' laughed Mrs Grover as she made me sit on a seatless chair and Dad prepared some straps.
The chair was a pretty solid variation on my high back chair and I soon discovered there was no danger of it breaking. As there was no seat I wondered how I was going to support myself, but they had that worked out. Dad threaded a thick black leather belt under my arms, across my chest and round the back of me and fastened it tight, pinning my body to the chair back. Then he used another belt to secure my waist to the chair, followed by two more over my knees (which he wanted me to spread wide apart). This combination of straps was slightly uncomfortable but held me to the chair without the need for a seat. My position however was such that I sank down a little as the straps stretched and adjusted themselves.
A thin strap was secured round my wrists and then attached to a rope from a pulley. It was adjusted so there was an upward pull on my arms, twisting my shoulders painfully as the chest strap wouldn't let me counter it by going forward.
Mrs Grover watched admiringly. 'I love how tight you make those straps,' she said as she stroked his cock when he'd finished. Dad was naked and she was in a white garter belt and white stockings. My father was erect and she was handling his dick with practiced ease.
I sat and watched, feeling weird as I saw him cum, long ropes of his semen spitting out across the floor while he kissed her and fondled her tits.
I felt even more strange as he suddenly turned the woman, pressed her to the wall and grabbed her hair with one hand. With the other he spanked her ass, making her butt cheeks quiver as they turned red under the repeated and loud blows. Mrs Grover didn't move, merely clenching her fists and biting her lip as he spanked her smooth white ass, framed by the garter belt and stocking tops. 'This,' he said as he rained flat-handed blows to her butt, 'is for making me come too soon.'
Mrs Grover didn't say a word, until he finished. She was allowed to turn back and quietly said, 'Thankyou,' tears running down her cheek and eyes down. She looked completely lost. Totally different from the dominant, cruel woman who punished me so often.
I wondered what kind of relationship they had in this affair, if this was common. And why was I allowed to see it today?
To show me, I concluded, that everyone could be punished for something. Even a pleasure hurried.
However I wasn't in much position to ask anything about it sitting like I was, feeling the air on my wide open cunt which to my shame was twitching a little. I was hurting from my arms and shoulders being forced into the way they were and felt horribly exposed sitting as I was. I could imagine my defenseless ass open to a beating, or my spread cunt being lashed. Or the wrist rope being adjusted higher. The thoughts made my heart thump harder. I wondered if Mrs Grover had ever had to endure this or just got a spanking now and then.
'Enjoying this, Sweetpea?' Dad remarked to me as he finished examining the marks glowing on his lover's butt. I groaned as a reply, unsure if I was trying to say yes or no, unsure how much sound I should make through the Kotex gag.
'Now I'm going to beat you Sweetpea,' said Dad matter-of-factly. 'Slipper on that cute ass. I'll kneel down behind you and slap the sole upwards. While I do that Melody here will punish your titties. Probably use her new flogger I bought her.'
Mrs Grover nodded and went to fetch it. 'Good bitch,' the man smiled when she returned. Mrs Grover hadn't quite stopped crying as she started on my boobs while Dad busied himself on my bottom, slapping the rubber sole against my spread cunt as well as my ass cheeks.
It was agony, as I expected, being beaten in two places at once. I yelped loud, not caring about the Kotex gag any more.
Mrs Grover let me dress more and more in lingerie she had "borrowed" from my Mom. I was standing in her bedroom (there was no one else in the house) listening to her while she dressed me in a baby-doll nightie of my mother's. It had been, she said, six weeks since the kidnapping. Nearly seven. Most people thought I was dead, or swept off to some foreign place as a prostitute slave. Apparently people were looking abroad but not finding anything. The police had interviewed three Kevin's, even getting one for an auto theft rap as a bonus. But none of them admitted kidnapping me.
'They aren't looking for you much now,' said Mrs Grover as she straightened the baby-doll. A pink one with ruffles of yellow lace at the hem and a large yellow bow at the neck. Impossibly cute, she said, for a woman of my mother's age. But right for me as she could see my slit through the sheer fabric along with my titties. She played with them idly for a minute, making my nipples harden as she usually did. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. 'Sad I guess, but people have to move on.'
For the first time since my kidnap I didn't have my hands cuffed or bound, nothing on my ankles. I only had a gag in my mouth and that was chained to a ring in the wall of Mrs Grover's bedroom. It had been unhooked when the nightdress had been dropped over my shoulders and replaced. Not by Mrs Grover but by me at her direction. Just as I had gagged myself when she tossed the ball gag to me.
I guess you could say I was beginning to be broken. But then the alternative wasn't appealing. Do as Mrs Grover and my Dad demand or be tied up and beaten or tortured. Plus this way I got out of that secret room. My prison cell.
It felt almost unnatural after so long being free of bonds or ropes or chains (the gag chain didn't count) and even more so to be in Mrs Grover's bedroom with the light streaming through the half open drapes, wearing something my Dad had taken from my Mom's drawers. I did what the woman wanted and I wasn't caned or whipped for it.
I could have, I guessed, tried to run off. I had high heels locked on my and the usual sprinkling of grit inside them so it hurt as I walked, but that wasn't unusual. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other to minimize the discomfort while Mrs Grover busied herself, back to me. It would have been easy to try to make a run for it. But what if she'd locked the door? What if this was a test and I failed it?
Even though the woman was dressed only in a matching peach bra and panty set (her own, not my mother's) and three inch heels I figured she could probably catch me before I got too far.
She was being nice to me right now but I knew she could be very cruel, almost in an instant. I didn't know what would happen if I suddenly tried to make a break for the door. So I stood, staring at myself in the mirror, faintly aroused by my state of dress and my humilation.
'I was thinking,' said Mrs Grover as she turned to face me. She had a black lace bra in her hand and was holding it like she was contemplating putting it on me. 'Maybe we should invite Shania in on this.'
I made a choking sound in shock.
Mrs Grover ignored me. 'Shania's been so good, such an innocent help for all of us. The police simply never really thought of me as a suspect thanks to her. Now I think she needs a reward. Don't you agree, Sweetpea?'
I didn't know how I was supposed to react. More to the point, how was Shania going to react? This could be pretty traumatic for her, thinking I was dead maybe, then seeing me like this, alive and well in the secret room. Facing up to the realization I had been bound and gagged in the same house as her for weeks.
How would she cope? What would she think of her mother? Above all would she go straight to the police?
Mrs Grover was smiling at me as a myriad of emotions and thoughts were mirrored in my face. 'Oh sweetpea, you look like this is some big deal.' She went behind me, drew my hands behind my back and looped the black lace bra round them. A simple but surprisingly efficient demonstration of tight bondage. She went back to the pile of frothy underwear on the bed and picked out a garter belt. Blue lace, like one of my Mom's.
The woman chuckled. 'You probably recognize these things. They're your dear mother's. Don borrowed them so I could tie you up in them. How considerate, huh?' She crouched at my feet, using the garter belt as very tight ankle bindings.
I stood helplessly as more bras and garter belts were applied, all strict and tight. To my elbows and knees and finally a pale pink garter belt round my neck so the garters themselves hung down my front. Mrs Grover tugged one playfully. 'Not quite what it was designed for but nice.'
She resumed her talk about Shania. 'I think she'd love what we've done with you. She'd probably be quite jealous.' Mrs Grover removed the gag chain and pulled a nylon stocking over my head with a snicker.
I looked at the woman, puzzled. How could she be jealous of seeing me treated like this, tied up in lingerie and humiliated?
Even through the gauze Mrs Grover could see my look. 'Oh, you think she's joining your Dad and me, right?' She seemed to think this very funny and sat on the edge of the bed, enjoying the idea. 'Oh no,' she said when the laughter subsided. 'She'll be another kidnap victim! Another sweetpea.'
I tried to say something like 'You can't do that!'
As usual Mrs Grover just ignored me. 'Thing is, she might get curious. She asked yesterday the one question I dreaded.' I sensed the humor had suddenly disappeared from the woman. 'She asked how come she was sent on an errand when I took you home that night? She'd always come with me before, and hey, I could have picked any store while we were out driving. That was the question the cops never asked. But Shania did.' A pause and the woman looked more serious than I'd seen her before. 'She suspects something but hasn't quite worked it out yet. She might just start to get nosy round the house. The other day I found her looking at where the secret door was. She said she thought she had heard a bird in the attic. Course, we don't have one as such but I'm not sure about her...'
Mrs Grover lay back on the bed, deep in thought. I just stood, bound and gagged and waiting to be punished in whatever way the woman wanted. But it sure sounded as if this was getting to be a problem.
The door opened and closed downstairs, Shania calling for her mom. In an flash Mrs Grover was off the bed and looking anxious. 'Shit,' she breathed, 'she's home early.' She called out, trying to sound relaxed. 'Hi honey, I'm just in my room. Down in a minute. Get yourself some cookies.' At the same time the woman grabbed my arm and tried to steer me towards the closet.
Perhaps she was too hasty. Perhaps she forgot my legs were tied or thought I could move somehow. I couldn't. I lost my balance and started to fall. She couldn't stop me: I fell with a loud thud.
'You okay mom?' Shania shouted from the downstairs. Worried and curious.
'Uh, sure.' Mrs Grover didn't sound it. She was cursing under her breath trying to hoist me upright when the door opened. It was Shania standing there, staring open mouthed at probably the most bizarre scene she'd ever clapped eyes on.
I don't know if she recognized me, her friend Tiffany lying on the floor in a ridiculously short baby-doll, tied up in underwear and hooded by a stocking. But she recognized her mother was in her underwear and this looked a National Enquirer headline in the making.
'What?' The girl managed to say.
'Uh, it's okay, honey. A, um, friend of mine. Playing a game.' Mrs Grover was still trying to get me up. 'Just girl's stuff.'
Shania was still staring. 'Mom! You and she aren't a couple of...' Shania stopped, maybe scared to say the L word.
It sure must have looked that way. Her mother in her bra and pants, me in a baby-doll and trussed in underwear. If this wasn't lesbian, nothing was.
'It's okay, really. Nothing bad,' said Mrs Grover, flustered. 'It's not what you think, Shania.'
I know the woman was desperately trying to cover things up but even I wanted to know what it wasn't. Shania, I could tell, was blushing.
'Uh, who is that in there?' The teenager was peering closely at me. Not running away, not shouting.
'Oh, this is uh, Jane. Young woman I play these...' Mrs Grover hesitated. 'These games with.'
I thought for a moment Shania had bought it. She probably didn't want to know anymore about bound and gagged young Jane and her mom. The kid took half a step back as if to retreat and then stopped, her eyes widening as she looked at me.
I knew what she had seen: the white scar on my knee. The scar I got when we were eight and I fell out of a tree because Shania pushed me.
She'd never forgotten that and the two inch scar above my knee - just below the bra tied round my legs - was all too obvious.
'Tiffany!' Shania screamed.
But she didn't get much chance to scream any more before her mother was on her, panties and nylons in hand to stop her daughter alerting the neighbors.
Shania put up quite a fight. One sided though it was, she managed to kick her mother's shins twice, grab her hair once before being overpowered.
I was hardly in a position to help and merely sat up, watching Mrs Grover eventually overpower her gagged daughter.
I guess that's the dilemma for a kidnapper. Gag first to stop the screaming or hands behind back to stop the fighting? Shania couldn't yell much with the panties in her mouth and the nylon tight round her head but she fought before Mrs Grover pinned her daughter to the floor and completed the tying up.
A hogtie, of course, with my Mom's underwear. I guess there was a lot of it.
Shania however clearly didn't understand the rules of being gagged. She kept trying to shout and scream. Mrs Grover added more gag with lots of tape and then a stocking over her daughter's head so she looked like me.
'Stop it,' growled Mrs Grover, standing over her daughter. 'It won't do any good.' She put her foot, high heeled foot, in the small of her daughter's back to stop her wriggling so much.
The girl didn't believe she should stop but even her struggles were tiring. She couldn't spit the gag out, couldn't rub it free. She sounded just like a TV turned up a little too loud in another room. No one would hear her.
My father hurried in. Summoned by his lover's urgent call he'd abandoned the hedge trimming and was clearly mad.
'What the fuck were you thinking?' He was almost shouting as he looked down at Shania but was addressing Mrs Grover, his whole being glowing with rage. 'We didn't discuss this!'
'What the hell was I supposed to do?' countered Mrs Grover angrily. She'd pulled a robe on but it hung loose, crossing her arms to partly hide herself.
'Think, dammit! That was what was supposed to happen!' Dad seemed even more upset.
'We said it was possible. We said we could.'
Dad glared at the woman, hands clenched. I remembered the time he'd spanked her - or at least the first time I'd seen it. I thought that was over nothing, so what would she get for this? A year in the secret room? 'We said we'd work out how it might be done.' he was speaking through clenched teeth as if spelling it out. 'We fucking agreed to plan carefully.'
'Too late now,' said the woman defensively. She took her foot out of her daughter's back as Shania had stopped struggling. Perhaps to save energy, perhaps because this man was crazy.
Dad unclenched his fists but his jaw was set hard. 'So what do you propose to do about this brat?'
'She's not a brat - she's my daughter.'
'Your daughter could land us twenty apiece in jail. How you going to explain this to her?' My dad gestured at me. 'How you going to talk her out of going to the police?'
'Like we said, we kidnap her.' A beat. 'Another one of this mysterious Kevin's captures.'
'We worked the last one out, you and me. Made it foolproof. But this is -'
'We didn't make it anything,' retorted Shania's mother. 'She wanted to know why she'd gone to the store while I supposedly took that one home. She suspected, okay, about us and the room!'
'That's not possible!'
'Don't be stupid,' snapped Mrs Grover, her hands dropped to her side, her fists clenched now. 'That thinking - complacency - is what gets us caught!'
Dad calmed suddenly, seeing her point. 'Okay, we make the best of it. We can't let her go now.' As he said that, Shania gave a twitch in her bonds as if she disagreed.
'Let me talk to her first,' said Mrs Grover, a strange light in her eyes. 'I can persuade her.'
'Persuade her to what?'
'I'll talk to her,' repeated the woman, defiantly.
'Okay. Then I beat you as a punishment, understood?'
Mrs Grover barely blinked. Perhaps it was what she always expected. 'Fine,' she said.
I was back in the secret room, on the high back chair and bound and gagged as I usually was except my legs had been forced apart wider than usual. I felt as if I was being split apart. More, my nipples were clip chained to the seat hook, pulling them painfully down.
I'd been like that for several hours, hungry and cold.
I hadn't seen Mrs Grover since she brought me back and, she said, about to talk to Shania. I had wondered how the conversation was going but as the room was soundproof I couldn't hear any noises. They could have been screaming at each other, if Shania's gag had been taken out. Maybe she was just sitting, listening, with one of my ball gags between her teeth.
I tried to imagine Mrs Grover explaining why, what had happened. Probably adding they hadn't really hurt me (true only over the last three days - 72 hours since my last whipping and you could hardly see the marks on my titties and butt) and wanted to let me go but it had all gone too far. They'd have to keep me like this for a long time to come.
I sat there and definitely didn't feel like some elegant kidnapped heiress, expecting to be rescued. My hair, for a start, had been shorn right down to a spiky stubble and I had put on a little weight through lack of exercise. Not fat, but not the stick-thin model I wanted to be. I also wondered what would have happened if Shania had believed I was this Jane. If she hadn't seen my scar she might be talking to one of her school friends right now saying, "My mom's weird." But as Mrs Grover was a teacher, I doubted Shania would go very far with a description of the scene.
Shania had been one of my last hopes. Now I guessed I might even see her in here as a fellow prisoner.
As usual in this position my legs and arms were hurting but I tried to ignore them as I turned over what the mother would be saying to her daughter, how she might win the argument. But maybe the argument would be won when Shania saw what would happen to her if she disagreed. The wall punishments, the bed frame, the seatless chair, the kneeling on sharp wood, the adjustable gags made bigger. Even tasting that vile drink would persuade her soon enough.
All I could do was sit and wait.
The door opened and Shania followed her mom into the secret room. I expected to see the teenager in chains or ropes and a gag, but she was free. Dressed normally, not naked. She stood grinning at me, at how I was tied, then looking around at the torture devices. 'Wow,' she said.
I groaned inwardly. Mrs Grover had won the argument. She also,had been beaten. When she turned I could see her legs below the hem of the short skirt she wore. Savage red marks from a caning. She bent to pick something up and her short skirt rode up briefly: her panty-less ass was a mass of vivid red and purple lines. Dad really had punished her as he said, yet here was Shania free and very interested in how I was kept.
Mrs Grover had clearly persuaded her daughter but still been thrashed hard. Dad, I reflected, always kept his word.
'So I can have her as mine?' asked Shania, looking excited at me, taking in my wide open slit and tortured titties.
'At weekends,' corrected Mrs Grover. 'Providing Don doesn't want to punish her, as we agreed.' They were talking about me and my heart sank. The rescue route had just been closed off. Permanently.
'Cool,' said Shania. 'And her name's Sweetpea?'
The mother nodded.
'Great,' snickered Shania. 'I always wanted a dog and Sweetpea's a great name. I know, Sweetpea Heiress. sounds real classy.'
I groaned again.
'An' can I punish her now?' Shania picked up a cane and swished it.
'Sure honey. Just let me tie her hands flat to the back of the chair and you can cane her open hands.'
There I was, tail in my ass, leash on my collar, doing my best dog impression on all fours.
Shania had been persuaded to see me as her pet in return for not going to the cops. In return for not joining me as a prisoner.
My friend - could I call her that now? - yanked the leash making me stop short as we hurried through the high walled yard. My exercise pen. 'Naughty Sweetpea,' she chortled as I made a choking sound into my muzzle. 'Sit!'
I sat, arms still straight. Well, I had to: each of my arms was tied to a steel rod so I couldn't bend them.
'Wag your tail,' she said. I did my best as I sat, twitching may ass cheeks trying my best to make it wag. I couldn't do it very well and Shania beat my back with the end of my leash.
I whimpered into my special dog muzzle gag as she counted out seven blows.
'Now beg, Sweetpea.' Despite my tears I begged, up on my haunches, taped up hands in front of me, rods holding my arms out straight. I imagined I looked stupid, like I didn't how to beg.
'Good bitch,' laughed my owner, who reached down and fondled my titties, around the rod that was fixed through my nipple rings. The bar that spread my small boobs as wide as they could go. I sat as she explored them hard, trying not to flinch.
She stopped and stroked my shaved head - well, shaved apart from two flaps of hair at the side that looked like dog ears. 'Y'know Sweetpea, they don't miss you at school now. It's been a whole twelve weeks and everyone's just about forgotten you. Course your Mom's still upset but Don comforts her. He's kind like that.'
I didn't make a sound as her hand went back down to my titties and pinched them hard. 'The pity is I can't tell anyone I have a pet dog now,' sighed Shania as she stroked my sore boobs before pinching again, bringing fresh tears to my eyes. 'Vicky Cotton and Leanne Devoire would be itching to come and see my puppy Sweetpea. You remember them, right? I guess they wouldn't remember you though now. Sure wouldn't recognize you in that muzzle and shaved head. Like I say, no one talks about you now.'
'Honey, time to eat,' called Mrs Grover from the house.
''Kay mom, I'll just tie up Sweetpea,' she called back. To me: 'I have to go in now, bitch. I'll fasten you to the cunt post and see you later.' She patted my head and led me to a short pole in the ground. There were two short chains attached to it. I backed round and put my naked butt with its big bushy tail wedged in my asshole up to it.
Carefully, Shania fastened each chain end to the rings set permanently in my cunt lips so I couldn't move far. 'As a special treat I'll put the dog dildo on this post and you can fuck yourself.'
I wanted to woof in appreciation and tried to wag my tail some. The dog dildo was my only pleasure - unless Mrs Grover was feeling like some fingering games after beating me in the week. The dog dildo was ugly and bony and dark brown, but once Shania had attached it to the post at ninety degrees it slid into my wet cunt. I sawed eagerly on it, feeling its hard knobs rub on my cunt walls.
'Don't come now, Sweetpea Heiress. Just enough to keep you excited, understood?'
I slowed the pace to show I understood. My owner, my one time friend, patted my head again and went in for her meal. I anticipated that when she came back she'd have some dog food in a bowl for me to eat from, providing I hadn't come. I slowed my self fucking right down, frustrated.
I felt my bitch-cunt start to spasm and stopped, the dog dildo half in and half out, waiting for the feeling to pass.
On all fours I waited hardly daring to breathe, motionless in the hot sun. I wondered what my meal would be like today, whether Mrs Grover had sprinkled those bitter, foul tasting herbs on it.
I sighed. At least that was better than trying to lick morsels out of Shania's tight little asshole.
I could hear laughter from the house, through the open window. The words "Sweatpea" and "Bitch" too. They were probably discussing me, what punishment I'd like next. Or what my Dad would do to me when he visited later on.
I wondered if he'd want to make me suck his cock again while my owners beat my ass and bitch-cunt. In a weird way, I could only hope so and began rocking on the dildo again not caring if I came without permission and was beaten for it.
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