Thanks to the demands school made on her time, there had not been an adrenalin-rush adventure in Barbara Gwenn's life in many a month. Six semesters of college had painstakingly demolished the twenty-two-year-old's merry-go-round of fun parties and events, which had once been an integral and taken-for-granted part of her high school routine. Maintaining a B+or-better average had turned her schedule into a one-dimensional loop of under-whelming, energy-draining oh-hum-ness, from which she now desperately needed to escape. Given the few options available to Barbara's perennially redlining contagion of self-imposed isolation, she decided to pick up on the first, out-of-the ordinary opportunity that presented itself to a vacant slot on her calendar.
It was Friday night. She'd been doing research in the school library for a paper due on Monday when her brain waves simply refused to take the task any further than the saturation point it now occupied against its will. Barbara checked the time and instinctively listened to its silent, subliminal red light. 'Wow. Is it that late already?' A hot bath beckoned on the view screen of her imagination. 'Yes!' she thought as she packed up her books and headed for the soothing, self-indulgent luxury.
When she sailed by the bulletin board just inside the front door, an artistically composed flyer caught hold of her peripheral vision. The word 'Party' was prominently headlined. Barbara stopped briefly to read the illegally posted communiqué. Thanks to a borrowed thumbtack, removed from the invite's upper left hand corner, and the memo that covered the two capital letters that preceded the word party, she had to pivot her head to the left to adjust to the angled way the details were forced to read, and didn't get to see the two letters that spelled out the theme of the occasion. Since her arms were loaded with books, and her momentum sensually dictated by the future feel of hot, bubble bath water, she made a mental note of the time and address of the bash, rather than exert the energy it would have taken to check out what was under the inconsiderately posted, overlapping memo.
Later, in the tub, she debated the possibility of stealing a few hours of quality time for some much needed R&R. 'Washed my hair last night. Just got off my period. Might even bump into someone I know from school.' Nothing she could factor in could seriously inhibit the equation. Before she could think herself out of it, Barbara Gwenn squeezed into her tightest jeans and sweater, high-heeled boots, and was happily strutting out the door. The fact that the party was but a few blocks away convinced her that the unexpected event was clearly there to get caught up and into her local flow. What she didn't know at the time was that the two unseen letters on the flyer would soon put her in touch with a network of strangers away from which her friends and family had warned her since age ten.
At 10:31 PM, Barbara Gwenn presented herself at the front door of the
huge, light gray house on the corner of Bond Street and Hemp Lane. A smartly
dressed blond, of about 21 or 25, welcomed her with a smile that could
have meant any one of a number of things.
"Hi! I'm Pamela. Come in. Welcome."
"Thanks." A familiar jazz cut caught Barbara's ear. "Am I underdressed?"
"Not at all," assured Pamela. "I just like tight-fitting suits. What's your name?"
"Barbara. I found out about the party from a flyer on the library bulletin board." They shook hands.
"Glad you could make it," said the pretty hostess. "That brings the male/female ratio to 16 and 9. But the night is young." Another, more ambiguous smile accompanied the mathematic report. "You can put your stuff in the closet here."
After doing so, the two strangers headed for the main room of the party.
Being foxy and shapely, their arrival turned many a male head, and a few
females' as well.
"Everyone!" announced Pamela, "this is Barbara." The introduction was tendered en route to the bar, where a smiling hunk placed a napkin on its highly polished, mahogany surface, and nodded an 'I'll-take-it-from-here' to the door lady's practiced poise. "See you later," said Pamela as she turned and headed for parts unknown.
"What'll it be?' asked John, with both palms on the bar.
Barbara perched herself on a black-leather stool and smiled back. "I don't know. What would you suggest?"
"How about something neat and clean burning?"
Two shot glasses appeared between them. Then came the saltshaker, and a small dish of cut lemon. "Tequila," realized Barbara, with overt enthusiasm. "My favorite."
As John poured, he asked, "Ever been to one of our parties?"
"Can't say as I have."
"Then let me be the first to inform you that you make a most pleasant, visual contribution to the evening's aesthetic ambiance."
Barbara hadn't listened to a man speak to her in such a positively articulate
fashion in years. "Thank you," she said, with a humble dip of her chin.
A room scan revealed a count of less than 15 guests, giving Barbara pause
to wonder where the other ten or so could be. 'Getting seriously connected,
"Here we go," said John as he pushed the shot towards her and lifted his. The salt was already on the back of his hand. "Why don't you propose a toast."
Barbara smiled, shook salt, raised her glass, and said, "To the end of boredom."
"Amen," agreed John before he and his newest customer sucked sodium, gulped down the shot, and brought the lemon to their lips.
"Everyone!" announced Pamela again from the other end of the room, "this is Tanya." She didn't bother escorting her to the bar, a fact of which Barbara took curious note. Only newcomers turned to look.
"Must be a regular," she assumed as she watched the top-heavy redhead strut her stuff to the couch to receive a kiss on the cheek from a male acquaintance. A more specific scan of the elegantly furnished room also revealed an interesting array of provocative attire. "Leather must be in," she figured, having not been as fashion conscious, as High School had demanded, since committing to her current goals. When Barbara turned back to the bar, her shot glass was again full, and John was attending to another thirsty guest. "What an odd collection of people; not at all the usual college crowd." She refocused on the couch, only to discover that Tanya and friend had disappeared. "This is a very interesting party," she gathered, with a tiny smile, before wondering if her out-of-step fashion statement might have had something to do with why not one partygoer had shown any overt interest in her.
"See anything you like?" asked John, when his intuitive bartending skills picked up on the aura of Barbara's uncertainty.
"Yeah," she smiled, "you."
He was out from behind his Job in a flash. "I was hoping you would say that. How about we take a walk?"
Barbara didn't hesitate.
They were soon shooting a game of pool in the center of a huge, finished
basement. "I'm really glad I came tonight," admitted John's flirting house
tourist. "There hasn't been a party in my life in ages."
"I find that hard to believe," said Barbara's icebreaker as he broke the rack and sunk the fifteen-ball in the process. "What shall we play for?" A seductive smile escaped his self-control.
Barbara's grin more than complimented his. "What would you suggest?"
John moved to his next shot and gave the new woman in his life a gauging look. "Fantasies?" The four-ball found a corner pocket.
Barbara didn't quite understand, but had already decided to make love to John. So she went along with his leading, provocative body language, figuring that, whether she won or lost, she'd eventually end up in bed with him anyway. "OK."
The verbal thumbs up had its desired effect on the game. John missed an easy shot. "Your turn."
Barb, too, was at a loss as to how to control her hand-eye coordination,
which, by the time the sixth missed shot of the game put both of them into
stitches, made for the most fun she'd had in several weeks. "I normally
don't play this badly."
"Neither do I," admitted John before sinking the winning ball. "You never did touch your second Tequila."
"Does that mean your fantasy will bring us back to the bar?"
John raised his left arm, bowed, and motioned towards the staircase. "Shall we?"
"It's your fantasy." Barbara placed her cue stick on the table and headed for the indicated direction. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"
"Only if you want to be." When they reached the front door hallway, John gently led his fantasy lady to the second floor staircase. "How about I show you the attic?"
Barbara rolled her eyes skyward. "Is that part of the fantasy?"
"Everything, since I sunk the fifteen ball, is part of the fantasy. How is it so far?"
"I don't know. It sure doesn't feel like a fantasy." Barbara moved closer and placed her hands on John's shoulders.
"How about a sneak preview?" They kissed... "Not bad. Lead on."
"First things first," said the fantasy man as he took his party date by the hand and headed for a closet.
Barbara watched him take from it a cue chalk colored, zippered bag,
one of several contained within, and guided her to the stairs by the wrist.
Barbara did what she could to control a swoon. "What's in the bag?"
John's new damsel was catching on slowly, and did her best to get into the spirit of the scene. "What's in the attic?"
When they reached the attic door, John unlocked it, gave his new friend a calculating look, and asked, "Are you sure you want to go thru this door?"
"I've come this far, haven't I?"
A ten-watt, red light revealed a staircase on the other side, but very little else. "Watch your step?" warned John as he closed and locked the door behind them.
Barbara stared up into the attic, but could see nothing beyond the top of its stairs. "Lead on, fantasy man."
Nothing was said on their way up, though John's body language suggested
a change of character. The higher they climbed, the weaker the red light
got, until they were engulfed in complete darkness. It took but a minute
for their passion to assume a more aggressive posture. They kissed for
several seconds. Barbara was surprised at how comfortable they were
with each other.
"I've missed you terribly," she heard herself say, in the wanton character she had decided to role-play.
"And I you, my sweet," said John as he pulled his lover's sweater out from under her jeans.
"Oh, yes- hurry. I can't wait." She lifted her arms above her head, allowing the top to effortlessly peal off her gorgeous upper body. In the interim, she herself removed the bra. There they stood, in the dark silence of the empty attic, kissing relentlessly, and with great, empathetic resolve.
Then, something unexpected happened. John released his fantasy slut
and knelt to the gear bag, which he unzipped to retrieve the first fantasy
toy. Realizing her lover could no longer see her, Barbara shamelessly fondled
her nipples and breasts. "Where have you gone?" she asked hungrily as her
right hand reached down to the sensual heat building up between her long,
"Right behind you, tramp," said John, gruffly, while quickly and masterfully joining his fantasy damsel's elbows behind her back to bind them together with a seven foot length of 3/8ths-inch-thick, nylon rope. His tone bristled with wounded lover innuendo. "Was the grass greener than you thought on the other side of the fence?"
The role-play was unique to Barbara's limited experience. At first,
she didn't know what to do or say about it. The several circles of line
were soon cinched and knotted securely. "What are you doing?" she heard
herself say, incredulously. There was no answer but the feel of wrists
being joined, palm-to-palm, by another length of tightly applied rope.
She was suddenly beside herself with unexpected, sensual excitement. "What
have I done?"
John spoke his lines with convincing timbre as he cinched and knotted the fours circles of line. "I warned you about what would happen the next time I caught you messing with another guy."
Barbara had never been disciplined so strictly before, let alone bound. Nor had the curious sensation of enforced vulnerability ever presented itself to her usually inactive libido. She chose her words carefully, speaking them softly, and with composed authority. "If you love me, you'll stop doing this right now." She struggled anxiously to protest the moment. "These ropes are tight. I can't believe this is happening."
John punctuated his next line with the tightening of the last, out-of-reach knot. "If you loved me, you would never have gotten mixed up with that rich brat in the first place."
Barbara could hear him rummaging through the blue bag again. "Are you
saying we're not in love anymore; that we're through?" She tested the ropes
and quickly realized her binder/lover was well practiced. "Shit." The subtle,
but unmistakable thud of two or three pounds of rope hit the floor behind
her. "Oh-boy. Now what?"
John tied one end of it to the elbow cinch and gave his fantasy wench something to think about as he snugly welded her arms to her torso with circle after circle of weatherworn clothesline. "What I'm saying, missy, is that should you ever decide to put our love to the test again, what I'm going to do to you now will feel like tea party, compared to what I will do to you if that event reoccurs." He carefully encased her entire torso with rope.
The first-time sensation of being tied up by a man, or anyone for that
matter, was making a deep psychological impression on Barbara's currently
introverted disposition. "Why am I hornier than I am scared?" she wondered.
"Why am I enjoying this more than I'm protesting it?" The ropes hugged
her tightly, but not enough to cause any real pain. "Why am I not screaming
John's next words were spoken softly, and without malice. "You can forget about screaming. This place is soundproof."
A jolt of delicious fear raced down Barbara's spine. When it touched bottom, something extraordinary invaded her erotic perception. The setting of the last knot in the torso bind completed the moment with a sensation so blessed with irresponsibility it literally swept her off her romantically inclined feet. "Well, I did want to get away from it all, but this is far out..."
A gently ministered kiss stopped her form thinking again. She played
hard-to-get. John backed off, only to grab her now hard, left nipple with
the thumb and index finger of his left hand. The right tenderly caressed
her inner thighs, while his lips tended to the right breast.
"...Oh-my-God," sighed the new lover in his life. She tore at the ropes in her first concerted effort to escape. The unrelenting hug of clothesline and nylon engendered an outer conscious swoon, the likes of which she'd never before uttered in her life. "This is incredible."
The feel of arms and kisses soon joined the bind's pressure. She let go completely. Several outrageous minutes passed, most of which were spent on a nearby mattress. No other clothes were removed, no untoward advantage taken. Just the delightfully frustrating love knot of hard-core necking in the pitch-black darkness of the musty, interesting-smelling, top floor room of the house in which Barbara Gwenn attended her first "BD" party, by mistake.
"Barbara Gwenn," informed John when he returned to the bar and switched
places with his co-tender. "Did my sudden egress have the desired effect?"
Chris smiled and glanced down at the 17-inch monitor hidden under the combination watering hole and console. "She's been struggling like a maniac ever since."
John had crossed and bound Gwenn's ankles together before turning on the lights and leaving his new damsel to her outraged thoughts. "She's quite a looker. How about we pipe this into the TV room?"
The two party drivers exchanged mischievous grins and got on with the briefing.
Meanwhile, Barbara was doing her best to manipulate her crotch rope
and acclimate herself to the attic's unique appointments, pulling and tugging
at the line that ran from the front of her waist ropes, down between her
legs, and on to the ankle cinch. Another, four-deep, loop cinch welded
her knees together as well, while boot heels were a mere two inches from
her rump, making the semi-hogtie a major distraction with which to contend
and sow into the equally major adventure at hand.
'Good grief,' thought Barbara Gwenn as she scoped the bare framework of the room. 'What have I gotten myself into?' Poster size, bondage artwork adorned the walls. Pulleys, and chains, with wrist cuffs affixed, hung everywhere.
The sound of the attic door opening inspired our heroine to lay back, motionless, while the clicking of heels ascended the staircase. The lights went out. A figure, decidedly feminine, appeared before her, with candle in hand. She wore a very tight fitting, spandex body suit, black-leather gloves, 6 inch heeled boots, and a huge-leather mouth restraint that completely encased the lower part of her face. A thick chastity chain completed her ensemble, padlocked at the naval. Its heavy-duty links dug deep into her crevice. She held the candle in her right hand. The left was strapped to the body suit, up between her shoulder blades. The right elbow was also lashed to the side of her torso by a few strips of black belting.
She looked down at John's damsel for a second or two, turned, and headed
for a far corner, where she lit another candle. Barbara remained still
while she watched her new roommate ignite one candle after another, until
all 33 of them filled the room with the dim glow of what, under normal
circumstances, would have been a very romantic aura in which to make love.
It took almost half a dozen minutes to finish the task. Our heroine spent
most of that time trying to establish eye contact. None was forthcoming.
"Hey?" asked Barb when the candle girl moved toward the staircase. "I would be eternally grateful if you would untie me." The girl turned and gave her a wide-eyed look.
"She has her orders," said John over the intercom, into a wireless headphone mike. "If she did undo you, there would be hell to pay. You may leave now, Jackie."
She did, immediately leaving Barbara in yet another state of shock. "John?"
"Where are you?"
"In my fantasy. Where are you?"
"...Where am I?"
"Don't you know?"
"I would not have asked had I known."
He pressed another button on the under-bar console. A huge TV screen
against a wall opposite the mattress instantly filled with the image of
a woman, alone in a sparsely furnished room, bound securely to a straight-back
chair. She wore underwear and skyscraper heels, and a big-red ball gag.
Barbara took note of the tightly applied rope between her legs. It ran
down in back to the line that tethered her bound ankles under the chair
to her crossed and bound wrists in back. She struggled pleasurably in her
fix while she waited on what would happen next.
"Who is that?" asked Barbara as she tugged on her crotch rope, took a deep breath, and felt the delicious embrace of her torso ropes tighten considerably.
"That's Bunny. Would you like something to drink?"
Given her circumstance, Barbara thought the question was absurd. "...Tequila?"
"No. You've had enough for one night. How about a Pepsi?"
"Sure. Are you going to bring it?"
He punched the 'record' function on a cassette deck. "Do we have your permission to videotape you in bondage?"
"...We? Who else will see it?" Barbara made two, tight fists, and felt a sudden jolt of captive excitement race down her spine. 'I can't believe I'm this horny.'
"Everyone at this party, and every party hereafter."
John's damsel writhed in her distress, while trying to think above the
rapturous distraction of yet another multiple in the making. "...Uh, I
don't know about this... John?"
"Yes, sweet Barbara."
"Is that all you want from me?"
"I want only what you and I both want. What do you want?"
"I was hoping we'd make love."
"What do you think I've been doing for the last 55 minutes."
Barbara watched as the girl in the video started to enjoy her orgasmic redundancy. "Don't you want me?"
"More and more by the minute. Shall we?"
The TV screen went dark. The door to the attic opened, and up its staircase
came the candle lighter again. This time, her arms were free. She wore
a headset as well, but was still gagged. The jackknife in her right hand
captured Barbara's undivided attention. It soon severed the hog-tie line
before dropping to the floor as Jackie knelt to the task of freeing her
charge's ankles and knees...
"Follow her," said John after his date rose from the mattress and stretched her long, fit-n-trim legs a bit.
The two women descended the staircase and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, where an opened door beckoned. Jackie headed straight for it. Barbara followed excitedly. Its room was brightly lit, with a four-poster, brass bed against the right wall. The door closed and was locked.
"I want her naked," instructed John through Jackie's headset, "on her stomach, her legs spread and tied off to the lower bedposts, with the upper arm collection point tethered to the top bar of the head railing. Make everything nice and snug. I also want her blindfolded and ready in less than 5 minutes"
Barbara could not hear John's commands now. Jackie worked the task swiftly
and efficiently, making sure all knots and lines were drawn exactly the
way her master customarily wanted them. A pillow was placed between her
bindee's chest and the mattress before the upper arm tether was drawn and
knotted to the top of the head railing. It took only 3 minutes and 25 seconds
to complete the task. The door slammed on Jackie's way out. The sound of
a lock being keyed and engaged brought a tingle to Barbara's back. It soon
engulfed her lower regions as well. She immediately tested the configuration
for slack. There was none. The blindfold was also unshakable.
"Wow," thought out loud the new damsel in John's life. A witticism crossed her mind, which she spoke to herself while lowering her chin and realizing it could be lowered no further than a foot or so off the mattress. "Gee, I wonder what's going to happen next."
"What would you like to have happen next?" smiled John from the bar.
Barbara chose her words carefully. "I have a choice?" The verbal intrusion did not surprise her.
"Yes, until you decide on an intensity number."
"1 to10. Each level is more intense, more demanding, more strenuous."
"...What's a 10?"
John's words filled his initiate with an excitement she'd never experienced
before. "No restrictions whatsoever. You would be at the absolute mercy
of your binder. No safe word; no one will intervene; discipline and sexuality
will marry, and a new word will define itself into your sensual vocabulary."
"...You'll know it when you say it, moan it, scream it, think it."
"...How long do I have to stay like this?"
"As long as you like. Is everything intense enough for you?"
Barbara decided to explore. "What else would you do if I said no?"
"Just enough to create a healthy dose of physical and emotional distress."
"...No." spat Barb as she struggled fiercely and got into a fantasy she'd been contemplating all her teenage and sub-adult life. 'I can't believe I said that.'
Two seconds later, the door was unlocked, and in strutted Jackie. Before
her mistress knew what was happening, her mouth was stuffed with cloth,
held in place by a ball gag, tightly strapped. Barbara then felt the pillow
under her chest being slowly pulled off the bed. The tension in all the
tether lines tripled when it no longer filled the gap between her and the
mattress. The collection of interlaced rope work between her upper arms
now completely supported the weight of her upper body. Her nipples barely
touched the sheet below.
"Ahnn," commented Barbara when the impact of her situation gave her reason to believe 'no' was a bit premature of her, given the new ball gag wrinkle.
"That will be all, Jackie. You can go back to whatever you were doing."
She left the room, slammed and locked the door, and returned to the attic to extinguish its 33 candles.
"Is that intense enough for you?" said John, in an unemotional monotone. The lights in the room dimmed to half intensity. "I'll be up there in less than 20 minutes to relieve the pressure on the tether lines by replacing the pillow with my naked body. You'll feel the back of my erection against your crevice. My hands and lips will be all over your neck and breasts. And when I'm sure you truly want what only I can give you, I'm going to stop until you reach maximum craziness. Then I'm going to drive my 8 inches into you and see what happens. I'll be motionless. You will struggle for friction, which, of course, will inspire the expanding and lengthening of my passion. My legs will be under yours. The hair on my chest will titillate your nipples. They will get harder, as will I. Then things will really get intense. Have you ever been spanked?"
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story continues in Damsel in Distress 2