A Game for Some

by Walt A.K.A. Xan

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© Copyright 2020 - Walt A.K.A. Xan - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; bond; rope; gag; tape; costume; corset; roleplay; cons; X

All characters are fictitious and any similarities to any persons, living or dead are purely coincidental.

Continues from

Part 2

While her fingers furiously pounded on the keyboard, I came up behind her and pushed a wadding into her mouth. Using gray tape, I began to wind it around and around her head, pulling it tightly, until it covered the lower half of her face from just under her nose to the tip of her chin. Peeling off another piece, I ran it under her chin, pulling it tightly up each of her cheeks to help keep her from opening her jaw. Then I made two more wraps around her head to keep the chin-piece from coming loose. Janey purred as I did this. The staccato cadence of her fingers never faltered as I gagged my new slave. 

I peeked down at the word count and saw that it was over 7,000 words and growing steadily. Following my orders, she was writing about our recent excursion along the dark back-country roads, where she’d been helplessly tied and gagged in the passenger seat. Janey had been both excited by this new adventure and at the same time terrified that we'd be caught.

“Having reviewed the writer’s guide for this site, Teann Daorsa, the new owner of Gromet’s site suggests that your word count be between 8 – 10 thousand words, and if it’s more to break the story up into chapters.”

Janey stopped just long enough to pull up a separate tab in her browser to show me that she had the writer’s guide for this site up and that she’d read it. I reached down, groped her tits making sure I pinched her pointy nipples and let her get back to her story. 

Janey was nude with the exception of the black boots she wore, that sported a six-inch spiked heel, the several windings of ropes binding her legs tightly together and of course the gag I’d just put on her.

My new slave would be 5’10” tall when she stood up wearing those boots. Her body, a few years shy of 40 was, in my opinion, still hot, sexy and exciting. Her waist was a little thick, but by mutual consent we would be gradually narrowing it with corset training. Being a bestselling author of mystery novels, and after a messy break-up with her last dominant, Janey had spent a fortune on a new pair of E-cup tits to make herself feel better. Her surgeon must have been very talented because she still had all of her former sensitivity in her nipples and her new tits felt very real in my hands. Her ass was a woman’s ass, wide and rounded enough to draw a man’s eyes and soft enough to draw a sadist’s hand to it for a good spanking. Janey however didn’t like to be beat to find her endorphin rush. She preferred tight, very restrictive, endurance bondage to find something she called slow-pain. To my delight, another one of the ways Janey found this slow-pain was to stand and walk around in skyscraper heels. Being a self-proclaimed shoe-whore, she was amassing quite a collection, and as she bragged to me, they all had at least a four-inch arch on a thin peg. She and I were exploring other paths for her to experience slow-pain. Her legs had a shape to them that excited me, and that’s really all I cared about. Janey thought her ass and thighs were fat, but I loved how the tight ropes squeezed them and made them bulge. They felt good in my hands and made me smile when I looked at them.

Janey’s oval face was pretty, if not model-level symmetrical. She wore her short-bobbed multi-colored hair to draw a man’s eye to her. It was mostly a copper red with streaks of blonde and she’d had it frosted with other shades and tones. Personally, I loved her bangs. In my mind, bangs and a gag always set off a woman’s eyes to their best advantage. Her’s were azure blue and very expressive. Janey’s Celtic gene-pool did not support any facial hair, giving her a smooth china-like complexion. Some other women, with that fine facial hair from different heritages, rarely appreciated the wadding and tape gags that I preferred and found to be the most effective.

Very submissive and enthusiastic about her submission, Janey sated a wide variety of lusts for me. As a retired rigger I am primarily a bondage-Dom, thoroughly fascinated by how the geometric patterns created by rope bondage laid on a woman’s skin to linearly emphasize the naturally organic curves of her body. In my heart, I truly believed that rope bondage made a woman significantly more beautiful and desirable. My soul knew that ropes and woman-flesh were made for one another and were just one more example of a balanced yin and yang. If you looked up ‘rope-slut’ in the new D.I.D. or deviant’s illustrated dictionary, Janey’s picture was right beside the definition. She loved to be helplessly tied and gagged until she could barely wriggle. Her libido jumped into warp-drive when she was helplessly restrained. Although she tried to fight it and would deny it to her dying breath, Janey was multi-orgasmic and loved being that sexual. And while I’m describing my new slave, Janey is, in my mind, a technically skilled and enthusiastic, world-class cocksucker. Now it was time to fully absorb Janey into my life, to be the Yin to my Yang.

Still a little buzzed from the espresso I began to root through the drawers in Janey’s kitchen. In a deep drawer on the far side of her cabinets, I found her collection of herbal supplements. Going through them, the fact that Janey had an espresso machine and no regular coffee maker began to make sense. As a writer, Janey was a go-fast freak without resorting to actual CNS stimulants like amphetamines or cocaine. I found bottles of Yohimbe, Guarana, Taurine, Royal Jelly, B-Complex, a Ginseng/Rhodiola/Ashwagandha complex, and a wide variety of other mental enhancers from a notable herbal supplier. I took multi-vitamin supplements, but nothing like this. Getting my laptop and looking up these supplements, I found that there was nothing wrong with taking them. All were listed as either energy or mental enhancers. Many were listed as active ingredients in the popular energy drinks and some of the peer reviewed articles claimed many of these supplements caused significant cognitive improvements for aging brains.

I wanted to see what they felt like, so I got her blender and started to add double portions of these supplements so we could both make an all-nighter out of this. Neither one of us had a 9 to 5 schedule to meet, so active days and quiet nights were not a necessity for us. Playing all night and sleeping through the daylight hours would do little more than slightly alter our circadian rhythms. With the bottom filled with about two-inches of capsules, I made and added 12oz of espresso, along with some malted milk, several broken-up squares of 63% dark chocolate, sugar and some double fudge chocolate ice cream that I found in her freezer. I then blended it all into a slushy concoction. Pouring out four portions into plastic cups, I put them in her refrigerator for later, and then cleaned up my mess.

When I returned to Janey, she was kneeling by her vacated desk chair and holding her arms behind her. She was motioning with her head to the screen for me to read her words, in the hope that I would pet her author persona. With some of the discarded rope from earlier I tied her wrists behind her and pulled her elbows close together with the next piece of rope, cinching them as tightly as they could go. I sat in her chair, made her scoot a little closer and holding her face cupped in my hands I smiled, staring into her eyes.

“Janey, my sexy, submissive slave, we’ve been acquaintances, if not close friends for years, and naturally I’ve read a couple of your books. You are a compelling author with an intriguing imagination that is detail oriented enough to sell thousands, if not millions of books. Having been an active participant in last evening’s adventure, I know how excited you are and what it meant to you. That’s why I insisted that you write this story while it was fresh in your mind. This will make a fascinating opening chapter for our life together, in print. I have faith in your story telling abilities, and when you polish this up and send it off to my favorite site, I will read it from the site.

In my mind, reading it tonight might cause me to add my own personal reflections on our adventure, which is exactly what I don’t want to happen. You are an excellent author, and I trust and admire your talents as a wordsmith. I do not want to be a co-author for your stories. I want to be an active participant in your experiences that will inspire you to chronicle our playtime, but these stories and chapters must be yours. I can make intelligent sentences and express an idea in my own style that makes sense to those that pay attention to my ramblings, but you are the storyteller. You add the color and texture a story needs to paint a picture for the reader. I may have a talent for bondage and domination, but you have a talent for making words blossom into vivid landscapes in the minds of your readers. You put them in your world of words and don’t let them leave until the book, or story is finished. Then they go looking anxiously for the next one. I don’t have that skill. You do, and I don’t feel worthy to dilute the colors of your unique palette. So, as much as I want to pet your abilities, I will not read this effort, tonight. I will wait until I see it published on this site and then I’ll read it. I know you want to share this, but we shared this adventure, and now it’s time to continue our life of B&D adventures, to inspire you to write many more such stories. I hope you understand my position.”

With tears glazing her eyes she nodded, and I knew she was alright with this when she wagged her tits at me. That was Janey’s way of telling me that I should play with them. I smiled and kissed her over the gag. Janey responded well to me crushing my lips against a gag that was silencing her. Lips and tongue-dancing was always enjoyable, but this just reinforced our shared love of bondage from the individual perspectives of our roles.

Untying her arms, I started the ends of the tape and then let her finish the unwrapping process while I untied her legs. Pulling her into the kitchen I had her sit down and tied her wrists in front of her. Then I pulled out two of the drinks I’d made and handed one to her. 

When I said, “So, you’re a go-fast baby, huh,” she smiled and drank a good portion of her cup.

“Busted. I guess you found my vitamin drawer. What else is in here, Sir?”

“Espresso, ice cream, malt, sugar, dark chocolate and two of every capsule in your drawer. Like it?”

“This is good. I’ll make us a blender full of this anytime you want me to. I like this formulation. Thank you. So, what are you going to do to me next?”

“I’m thinking a costume change into a slutty secretary, maybe a sexy librarian or something along those lines. The whole writing thing has my brain going down those lines of cos-play.”

“I have many clothes that would fit either of those roles. For the slutty secretary, I have many white blouses, from ironed cotton to sheer ones that are almost see-thru, with either ruffles or lace to tease you. I have several styles, lengths and colors of short tight skirts. I have flimsy demi-cup bras, garters, fishnet hosiery, and of course come-fuck-me-pumps. I even have clear-lens glasses. There are actually several variations on this theme for you to choose from. Over the years I’ve had many fantasies about being tied up and gagged as someone’s secretary.

“For the sexy librarian fantasy, I have ruffle fronted, starched cotton, high-necked blouses with ruffled French cuffs, fitted vests, matching suit jackets and knee length pencil skirts that are almost hobble-skirt tight. Fashion-print pantyhose and either high heeled oxfords or other high heeled boots would add to the costume. I could wear the glasses for the studious look. Under that I’ve always imagined a tightly laced steampunk corset and granny-panties that could be stripped off of me and used as a wadding. A neckerchief scarf could hold them in my mouth and lacey white gloves would complete the look. I have a couple of bundles of natural fiber rope to add to the old-timey look. Is that the look you had in your mind?”

“Wow, you seem surprisingly well prepared. What made you collect costumes like this? The depth and quality of your choices suggests more than cheap Halloween outfits for cos-play.”

“Sir, to get the right mindset for some of my characters, I like to dress up when I write, putting myself in their place for the adventure in my mind. I guess you haven’t read any of my Mrs. McGovern novels, or you might have recognized the head librarian who is my sleuth in the books. Cecelia McGovern is a widowed librarian by day and a sleuth by night, solving mysteries from the clues only a bookworm would know to look for. A female Sherlock Holmes of sorts. I often dress up like her when I write her adventures.”

“Well my dear, it looks like Cecelia McGovern is going to be captured by the evil villain and tied up deep in the stacks. He will naturally have to interrogate her to find out what she knows, so he can get away with his dastardly deeds and make his escape before she can wriggle free and put the police on his trail.”

“Oh Sir, that sounds like fun. I’ve been looking for a way to put Cecelia into a Damsel in Distress scenario for a while now, but that really didn’t fit into any of her adventures or personality. She’s so aloof and cautious, and she’s always protected by her friends, the village constables and inspectors. They all lust after her, but she has no time for men and would rather read her books than live a more normal life. Even when she leaves her library to go investigate the clues that the inspectors can’t fathom, she’s always able to elude the bad guys and report their misdeeds to the police. Oh, this sounds like fun.”

“Okay, while you go and change into Cecelia, I’ll start sizing and cutting up that rope you offered. Is that the only pair of boots you have with a six-inch heel? And how high are the pegs on the oxfords?”

“I have a pair of oxblood boots with six-inch spiked heels, like these, and they would fit the librarian look for Cecelia. The three pair of oxfords I own have four-inch, five-inch and six-inch stiletto heels. The expense two-tone ones that would look best on Cecelia only have a four-inch peg. The patent-red five-inchers are way too slutty looking for her persona, and the last pair of black ones are patent leather too and just cheap slutty fetish shoes. To tell you the truth, after putting them on once, when I first got them to make sure they fit, I haven’t worn them since. I have other shoes, of course.”

“Okay. Put on that steampunk corset and I’ll snug the laces up for you. Attach some durable hosiery to the suspenders and pull on the appropriate, mouth-filling granny-panties over the suspenders. Then put on those oxblood boots and the rest of the outfit. I have some props I want to get out of my car for this. So, who’s the villain in these librarian adventures or is there someone that Cecelia just doesn’t like?”

“Rodney Longstreet, Esquire, is a suspected cat burglar, but no one can pin anything on him, yet. Cecelia believes he hides out in her sleepy little town, leading the respectable life of a country gentleman, but she suspects he’s behind many of the big city jewelry thefts in London. He’s a recurring character in all of the books, but he’s basically just written in as color, for the sake of misdirection. The constables watch Rodney while the real villain commits the covert crimes that Cecelia has to solve.”

“Well, tonight all of Cecelia’s suspicions will play out as Rodney abducts his nemesis before she can prove that he’s not as clever as he thinks he is. Can you work with this in your next storyline?”

“Oh, yes Sir. I’ll go over plotlines while I’m tied up and gagged.”

“I was thinking, to give you something to think about, imagine Cecelia working late at the library. Her friendly constables check on her but have to leave on some errand, leaving her to finish up her librarian duties. Several plotlines could separate them, so she ends up alone. As she’s locking up, a masked man pushes her back inside and threatens her. He has an American accent which fools her. She’s forced to show him some special books in the private part of the library about someone important in London. We can use your office for this part. You have bookshelves full of books in there and that will add a little realism for you. He needs the information in these private books so he can steal something from these aristocrats. She begins to suspect that he’s Rodney, but the accent still has her fooled. He ties her up while he goes through these books. So, she won’t be found by the constables after he finds what he needs; he throws her cloak around her and leads her through the streets to his hideout. Once there he takes his mask off and she sees that it really is Rodney. She’s too lovely to kill so he ties her up very tightly, gags her and leaves her for the constables to find as he heads to London to commit the crime of the century. Will she escape in time to tell the inspectors?”

“Oh, I love that Sir.” 

“That’s just something off the top of my head. I have no idea if you can use any of that for your heroine or not. I’m just spitballing here, but I think the plot twist that he’s secretly a colonial, from across the pond, pretending to be British might be something to work with, and it gives him a chance to kidnap Cecelia and be mean to her. What do you think?”

“Oh Sir, my mind is spinning with the possibilities. I can use all of that. I love it. Afterwards, will you give me some time to type up some notes after I’m tied up for a while? Being bound will give me some quiet time to think about ways to fully flesh out Cecelia’s plight?”

“Janey, I fully support the author in you, so if we can have a little fun with this and if this inspires you to write this up as one of Cecelia’s adventures, I want you to go for it. Take all the time you need to write your story. If worst comes to worst, I can run back to my house real quick, pick up a few things and come back here. A clean shirt would be nice. This one smells two days old. I guess I could leave it for you to wear, but I want a clean one or two. Plus, I have some gear I want to add to your collection of play toys.”

“Sir, while I’m typing this up will you tie me up and gag me like I was earlier when you go back for a clean shirt?”

“I tell you what. If you’ll stay dressed up like Cecelia, I’ll tie your legs and tie your body to the chair. I’ll leave you some safety shears in case of an emergency, and another energy smoothie. I have two more in the refrigerator. The thought of you here, tied up, typing and waiting for me will inspire me to rush back here. How does that sound?”

“Perfect Sir, but don’t rush back too quickly. I want you to make it back to me safely, and not get wrapped around a telephone pole or drive off in a ditch somewhere. And pack a bag Sir. I want to keep you.”

“Deal. Now let’s get you laced up in that corset. I have rope to cut and props to retrieve from my trunk before we get started.”

This longline steampunk corset had a built-in bra that fastened behind her neck like a halter-necked dress. This cut and style tended to push her tits in from the sides, giving her an even more impressive décolletage. It was made of a worn-looking brownish leather, with brass latches in plate-staples instead of loop-hooks on buttons. It looked smokin’ hot on her body. Once her waist was narrower, I kissed her and grabbed the rope she had. She had two, 100’ rolls of 8mm manila rope. I could work with this stuff, but it really wasn’t my favorite. I preferred hemp. From the trunk of my car I got my black hoodie, my black leather gloves and my balaclava out of my cold weather backpack. I emptied the rest of my things out of it and took it in with me. From my toolbox I got my heavy-duty hand-shears and from under the driver’s seat I got my Fairbairn-Sykes dagger. The shears weren’t safety shears, but they cut through rope faster and easier than my EMT shears, and if Janey had to get out of her bondage quickly, these would work better for her. In her living room I cut up both rolls of rope into usable lengths, taping the ends to keep them from fraying. While I was bundling them up for convenience, I didn’t hear Janey come in the room. She cleared her throat, so I’d notice her.

Looking up, my eyes widened and all I could do was whistle. Janey was beautiful. She was every bit the fantasy librarian, on one hand conservative and prim, but on the other hand, hot, sexy and all woman. Her tan blouse had an old-timey wide collar and the matching tie was in a full Windsor knot around her neck. Ruffles hid how it was fastened on her. A silk, flesh-tone neckerchief was tied around her neck. Monogrammed studs held her ruffled cuffs together and Janey wore thin white lacey gloves on her hands. Her vest was cut for a woman and would have shown a lot of cleavage if her blouse hadn’t been in the way. The dark brown herringbone tweed jacket and pencil skirt matched the vest. Janey hadn’t exaggerated about the tightness of her knee-length pencil skirt. As part of the suit it looked very professional, but her gait would be severely limited by the cut. Her boots sold the outfit. Janey’s thick horn-rimmed glasses were held around her neck on a thin chain, and it transformed her into a different woman when she put them on. My libido kicked into high gear seeing this image of her and I had to take deep breaths to keep from throwing her down on the floor and taking her right then and there.

“You are stunning, - - - Mrs. McGovern. That is so hot. No wonder all the constables are in lust with you.”

In a convincing British accent, she replied, “Thank you M’Lord. Do you require my services as your librarian tonight?”

I melted. Like many American men, a beautiful woman speaking like a Brit ignited the fires of desire, and immediate rape once again flashed through my mind. Luckily, I imagined the rewards I would receive by displaying some patience, so I sucked my breath in through my teeth and finished bundling the last couple pieces of rope instead of tying them around her like I wanted to do. I stuffed all the rope into my backpack and stood up.

Whispering, I said, “I’m going out into the back yard and lie in wait for the librarian to exit the library and start to lock up.”

“I’ll be locking up as soon as I finish in the stacks M’Lord. If you should see one of the constables, would you tell him I would be honored if he could escort me to my home. I would feel so much more at ease if they would. I fear that evil is afoot tonight.”

I’ll admit I’m a sucker for British women. Her accent was giving me a bit of a stiffy. I shook around and adjusted my jeans to get more comfortable, and Mrs. McGovern giggled as I walked out the back door. In the dark backyard I put on my balaclava and my hoodie, pulling the hood up to further hide my face. I pulled the gloves from the pockets of the hoodie, put them on, adjusted my Fairbairn-Sykes dagger for easier access and waited.

I saw the lights go out through the windows, and when Mrs. Cecelia McGovern came out and turned to lock the door behind her, my gloved left hand went over her mouth and I pushed her against the door, holding her right arm in my other hand. She tried to bite my hand, but the glove made her effort somewhat futile. She elbowed me in the gut with her other arm, but I could tell that that was more for show than an actual attempt to incapacitate me and escape my clutches. I pulled the dagger out and held it up in front of her face. Once she got a good look at it, I put it to her neck.

A Fairbairn-Sykes dagger has a seven-inch slender, tapering, double edged blade with a very pointy tip. Besides being one of the finest designs for the sole purpose of killing someone, its blued blade just looks evil. I’m led to believe that some of the commando units of the British SAS are still issued these specialized knives because they are such an effective tool for killing. I’ve carried one for years. I clean my nails and peel oranges with my folding pocket-knife, but if I need a knife in a fight, I want the best, so that I go home, and my attacker doesn’t. I was taught in my dojo to win, not to play fair.

Seeing this very phallic instrument of death threatening her, Mrs. McGovern went limp and submitted as I pushed her back into her library. I closed and locked the door behind us. Running the point lightly across her throat made her shiver and put a halt to any resistance from her.

“Now ya’ bint,” I said in a harsh guttural tone, using an antiquated and thuggish term for a woman, “ya’ will do exactly what I tell ya’ to do, or else. First, if ya’ scream or yell out for help, ya’ be dead before ya’ body hits the ground. Got it?”

She timidly nodded, trembling.

“Second, take me into that section of this library where ya’ keep all the really private journals of the now deceased Colonel Montgomery, of the Royal Lancers. I know they’re here somewhere. When I came in the other day, I couldn’t find them in the stacks. If ya’ don’t show me where they are, well, I’ll get mad, and ya’ don’t want to see me mad, now do ya’?”

She shook her head, staying very still otherwise.

“Well, get a move on ya’ bint. I ain’t got all night ya’ know.”

Holding the dagger where she could see it, I let her lead me into her office. I moved her around slowly in a circle, looking at all the books on her shelves. Janey had one of those desk lamps that had the half-cylinder green glass shades that focused the light down on the surface of the desk and kept the rest of the room fairly dim. I turned it on and pushed her against her desk.

“To keep ya’ from running off, I’m gonna’ tie ya’ up now. Don’t ya’ dare move. Ya’ know what’ll happen to ya’ if ya’ try to run, or if ya’ scream.”

Again, Mrs. McGovern nodded and stood still. I took my hand off her mouth and slid my backpack off my shoulders. Pulling out a couple of pieces of rope I slid my dagger back in its sheath and pulled her arms behind her back. 

As I tied her wrists together, she said in a meek voice, again, still in character with that British accent, “Please Sir, you don’t have to tie me. I’ll behave. You have my word.”

“I can’t take the chance ya’ won’t try to do somethin’ stupid while I look for what I came for. Now hold still.”

After tying her wrists, I went down on one knee and tied her ankles together. Then getting out a third piece, I tied her elbows close. 

“Oh Sir, that’s too tight and there’s no need to be so rough with me. With my ankles tied I can’t escape. Please take that last rope off of me. It’s too tight.”

“Just shaddup, ya bint, or I’ll gag ya’ too.”

“Of course, Sir,” and she sniffled. Janey was really getting into this role play. God, she looked good dressed and tied like this. I reached around and squeezed her tit.

In a shocked voice she exclaimed, “There’s no call to take advantage, Sir. That was rude and uncivilized of you. Unhand me.”

“I told ya’ to shaddup, ya’ daft bint. Now I gotta’ gag ya’.”

“Oh Sir, please don’t do that. I’ll be quiet.”

I pulled her little white gloves off, rolled them up so the fingers were packed away inside the palms, making a ball of cloth and roughly tried to stuff them in her mouth. At first, she kept her lips closed and her jaw set. I pinched her nose, and when she opened her mouth for a breath, in they went. I pulled off her neckerchief and tied a tight over-the-lips gag on her. She glared at me and humphed her indignation. 

“Told ya’ what would happen to ya’ if ya’ didn’t shaddup.”

Now that she was gagged, I felt her up, mauling her entire body with my gloved hands. She tried to move away from this abuse, but with her ankles tied she couldn’t go far. When she started to make too much noise, I slapped her. With a gloved hand it didn’t hurt but it did surprise her. Feigning fright, she whimpered, but quit making noise through her gag and stood very still while I groped her. After several minutes of feeling her up I just stopped and turned my attentions to her books. Knowing Janey’s predilection, I let her just stand there in her six-inch heels. She stood there at attention, ramrod straight, displaying righteous resentment.

I made a production of going through many of those books pretending to do research, while Mrs. McGovern just stood there, ignoring me. All of the books Janey had written were on her shelves, with several copies of each one. I found her Mrs. McGovern books and they had titles like: ‘Mrs. McGovern and the Countess’s Peril’, and ‘Mrs. McGovern and the Ambassador’s Alchemist’. There were six in all and I checked my watch waiting for the right time to take her to my lair. About 3:45 I went in and got her cape. When I got back, I took her necktie off, pulled her glasses off and blindfolded her with the tan necktie. I put her cape around her shoulders, tied it around her neck and pulled her deep cowl hood up. Cecelia McGovern moaned her distress when I untied her ankles. With my backpack on I pushed her through her trailer and out the back door.

With my arm around her waist to guide her, we walked around the block again. It was a little colder tonight, cloudy and moonless. I made several comments about the fog in the streets. Our pace was much slower this time, due to her very tight skirt and the handicap of her being blindfolded, and my head was on a swivel to make sure we were unobserved. While we were walking along, I stopped several times and spun her around to disorient her, figuring that this would add a bit of realism to her story. Someone taking her to his lair wouldn’t want her to know where she was if she managed to escape.

Back in her doublewide, I stopped just inside the door, put one hand around her throat while using my other hand to reach up under her skirt and roughly pull her granny-panties down. She whimpered and it almost sounded like she was crying.

“Buck up darlin’. If I was gonna’ kill ya’, I’d a’ done it before now. We’re deep in the warehouse district and the only ones here, besides us, are the rats. Can ya’ hear them scurrying around? There’s a lot of them.”

She shivered and whimpered plaintively.

“Now that I got ya’ all to myself, I am gonna take some liberties with ya’. Remember, if ya’ do anything I don’t like, no one will ever find your body before the rats eat ya’ down to bone and gristle, got it?”

She nodded.

Forcing her down on her knees I unzipped my pants and shoved my hard-on against her gag. She shook her head and whined until I pulled my dagger and put it against her throat. When she nodded, I pulled her gag down and let her spit the wadding out.

“Now be a good lil’ bint, ya hear? If ya’ make me happy, I might just tie ya’ up and leave ya’ here when I go get the Sacred Codex of Megiddo from the Colonel’s estate. Now open wide and ya’ better not bite me, ya’ daft bint.” 

After some futile whining and pleading from Cecelia McGovern, in her British accent, Janey wrapped her lips around my rock-hard dick and took away all my cares. My sexy new slave did enjoy her flesh pop-sickles. As she used her lips and tongue to clean up every last drop, I staggered a bit as my brain slowly found its way back to the head on my shoulders.

“Do you have what you need from this role play Janey, or do you need to be tied up in a dark room to think about the story from Cecelia’s perspective?”

“Oh Sir,” she said in her normal voice, “As much as I’d love being helplessly bound, gagged and completely under your control, and totally at your mercy, I can barely wait to start pounding this out. The words are racing around in my head and they have to come out soon, before I lose them. Please, you promised to tie my legs together and tie my body to the chair in front of my computer. Please? You promised.” 

Before long, Janey, in her Cecelia McGovern costume was tightly leg-bound, and her torso was webbed to the back of the heavy wooden chair from her playroom. I substituted it for her desk chair for a bit more realism. Turn of the century librarians didn’t have molded swiveling desk chairs. Besides, it was easier to secure her to the wooden chair. Janey had a fresh cup of the go-fast smoothie by her computer and her fingers were flying across the keyboard. Her focus was all encompassing and I don’t think she even heard me leave. I’d taken off my stinky shirt and left it there for her, wearing just a T-shirt back to my house. I took her keys and made sure to lock her in, just in case. I knew I’d stop someplace and get a copy of her house keys before I came back, figuring I’d be spending a lot of time there in the future.

Adding my black leather Dom-suit to my garment bag. I also included a regular suit for when we played boss and secretary games. Regular button-down shirts, snarky T-shirts and some wife-beater tank tops were included, along with my charcoal-gray cargo pants and underwear. From a separate laundry bag, I threw in some old holey underwear to be cut up for wadding. They were clean and stuffing pieces of them in Janey’s mouth was a much better use for them than as cleaning rags. Using her panties as waddings was all well and good, but I figured that she might also like to chew on my shorts.

In a separate duffle I packed some of my toys. A pair of Irish-8’s cuffs went in, along with my vintage antique-looking Hiatt colonial handcuffs, along with a matching pair of short-hobble leg-irons. After playing with Cecelia McGovern, I thought these might add to her adventures, especially if Rodney Longstreet escaped from prison and came back to seek retribution on his nemesis. I’d really enjoyed our role play, and any excuse to get Janey talking in that British accent was worth the effort for more role play.

From my medical supplies I got my boxes of flesh-colored Kerlix. I had a total of 18 rolls of four-inch Kerlix, which was very similar to Vet-Wrap. Both would stretch and seal against the wrappings without the adhesive of tape. I also emptied my cabinet of all my micro-foam tape. I had a box and a half of three and four-inch rolls. I also brought more Breathe-Right strips to keep her nasal passages open during sensory deprivation play, and I threw in more earplugs and extra pads to help deaden even more sound. A good rigger has to be prepared, and I didn’t have anyone else I was playing with, so Janey would have to be the one to share these tools of the trade.

Thinking about it, I left the rest of my toys in the footlocker. From my experience I knew that most women liked to wear her own ropes and toys, rather than share the ghosts of those that had worn them before her.

Hauling a rolling suitcase, duffle and garment bag out to the car, I headed back to Janey’s. To facilitate my plans, I made some phone calls. My mind was filled with things I wanted to do to her. Back at her place I saw that the bestselling author was still plying her tradecraft, so I brought my luggage in and got her a refill smoothie to replace the empty cup on her desk. I took the time to grope Janey and nibble on her neck after she drank a third of the cup down immediately. Going back in her kitchen I figured I needed to make another blender full. I’d just given her the last cup and I wanted some for myself. Not wanting to disturb her creative processes, I nuked us both a breakfast burrito and took hers in to her. Janey’s focus was on her screen and the words filling it. I don’t think she even realized that she had food in front of her. I drank my smoothie while I ate mine and then topped off her cup before storing the rest in the refrigerator.

A hot shower felt good and in clean clothes I hung up my garment bag, put my suitcase in her bedroom and added my supplies to her playroom. Going through her playroom closet I mentally filled all of her clothes and costumes with images of Janey to inspire me for future sessions. BDSM was a game for some, but for a select few, it was a lifestyle. I had no doubt that Janey wanted this lifestyle as much as I did, and if I could inspire her to write even more bestselling novels, I knew the proceeds would feed our shared love of the game. Thinking of her leg and torso bound, describing the feelings our play gave her made me chuckle. After a while I went back out to lay on her sofa and I just watched Janey, in her Cecelia McGovern persona, flesh out a story her readers would pour over to transport their imaginations into the world of her librarian super-sleuth, putting away unscrupulous villains like Rodney Longstreet.

Lost in my fantasies, I was pulled back to this world by Cecelia McGovern’s British accent.

“M’Lord, if I may, it would greatly sate me to be used as the woman I am under these trappings of civility. It embarrasses me so, to reveal to you that I have desperate needs, a woman’s needs, to understand the female animal bubbling up to the surface from deep inside of me. If it’s not too much of a burden, would you help me relieve these all-consuming feelings of forbidden lust, that I just can’t control any longer. I’ll be a good girl, I will Sir. Please?”

Untying her legs and torso just to use those same ropes to tie her arms tightly behind her back barely delayed raising her skirt up around her waist, throwing her across the back of the sofa and pounding into her sopping wet pussy doggy-style. Cecelia encouraged my play-rape with vocal mewlings and platitudes for my performance in satisfying her womanly needs. I really was a sucker for a British accent because I was very hard and surprisingly long-winded as I pumped my cum into her.

Mrs. McGovern thanked me and then Janey came back out.

“You really got into this Sir. I loved that. Was it the British accent, or this librarian costume that got you so enthused?”

“Both, and anytime you want to get me hard and ready, just have Cecelia ask me like she just did.”

Janey laughed and I eventually shrank out of her. I sat back and pulled her onto my lap so I could make-out with her while I groped her very desirable body. When I noticed how enthusiastic I’d gotten with her elbow ropes I started to loosen them. Janey shook her shoulders and sat up.

“Sir, they’re tighter than you’ve ever tied them, but please remember that I thrive on and adore tight bondage and love wearing your ropes for as long as you’ll let me. Please don’t untie me yet. Just let these ropes bathe me in the love your ropes represent as they hold me helplessly to your will. Actually, this jacket helps with the tightness and I really just want to be held by you and these ropes for a while longer. I love you so much, and I had so much fun playing these games with you.”

“Did you include Cecelia’s blowjob when you were chronicling her latest adventure, or was that too much flavor for your readers?”

Back in her British accent, Cecelia said, “I hinted that Rodney took advantage of me in a sexual way, but the heinous details of his abuse were just too much for the decorum of this story. Personally though, I enjoyed the barbaric liberties he took with me in my helpless and terrified state.”

Laughing, I kissed her and said, “At least the widow Mrs. McGovern is as good of a cocksucker as my Janey is, and that pleases me.”

“Anytime, and almost anywhere Sir. Both Cecelia and I do love servicing a man in that way,” Janey told me, smiling.

I stood Janey up, untied her and helped her shed her librarian persona. Naked, I swatted her butt and sent her off to her shower, noticing she smelled like a rangy cat after a long night in the alleys. 

When she came into the playroom wearing just a towel, I was wearing my Dom-suit, which consisted of black leather pants over polished, black biker boots, a red cotton button down shirt with black-pearl snaps instead of buttons, a long, wide, shiny red satin necktie, a black leather vest and a southern-style black coat over it all with long tails and black leather collar and pocket flaps. I tipped my fingers to my black Boss of the Plains Stetson. 

“Oh, my Sir, don’t you look handsome. I like. I like this a lot,” she said, purring in a sultry tone as her towel dropped to the floor. “You just got my juices starting to flow again. What may I do to please my master?”

“Nude hosiery, with a seam running up the back, white pumps with at least a five-inch peg, spike or stiletto, it doesn’t matter, that silky spaghetti-strap white gown in your closet, white satin opera length gloves, a small clutch for some touch up make-up, your ID, and a credit card, and any jewelry that makes you happy to wear. I’d prefer you to wear long, dangly earrings, but considering I don’t know what you have, any evening jewelry will do. Oh, and of course, a smile. You might want to bring a shawl too. We’re going out dancing.”

Janey squealed, leapt into my arms, kissed me, spun around and got busy. It wasn’t long before we were on the road. 

“You look more naked than you do in skin. I knew you would. That was my intention. I’m going to enjoy pushing you around on a dance floor. And by the way, I think you’re beautiful and I’m surely going to feel ten-foot tall and bulletproof holding you in my arms.”

“As long as I’m with you, I really don’t care whether I look naked or if I am naked. You’re looking all kinds of fine and you’re taking me dancing. All is perfect in Janey’s world,” and she giggled.

We chatted about the direction her latest novel was going, and how she was building the storyline around the adventure we had. Janey assured me that her publisher would be very happy when she received this book months ahead of schedule. 

When Janey got quiet, I asked her what was on her mind.

“Oh Sir, I’m just mentally spending this next royalty check on what we’ll add to the playroom. Any suggestions?”

“More shoes, especially some more boots, a few more corsets, and more stuff to make you very helpless, because of how sexy and hot you look like that. Maybe some more hosiery, pantyhose and body-stockings too, if you have enough left over.”

“I knew I loved you for some reason,” and she laughed.

We stopped up in Bowling Green and I rented a gray, 2019 Ford Taurus. I’d called ahead and we handled the transaction quickly. Janey sat in the car and tried to figure out what I was doing, but she really couldn’t see with both trunks up. I took several large bundles from my trunk and put them in the trunk of the Taurus. Then I helped her into the rental like a gentleman on a date. She smiled brightly.

 Driving into Lexington, Janey tried to question me about what I’d done, but I deflected her inquiries with the same skill an attorney would use to obfuscate a detective’s probing questions about the lawyer’s client. I could tell I was frustrating her, but the sly smile on my face told her to just wait and see. She knew I was up to something, but she just couldn’t figure out what.

At a supper club, we enjoyed a sumptuous dinner. I drank bourbon with my steak and Janey had some wine with her salmon. Then, for the rest of the evening we danced. Other men looked hungrily at the woman I held in my arms, but she only had eyes for me. Graceful in her five-inch heels, she floated backwards to the music and smiled at me the entire night like a pirate about to plunder a wallowing cargo ship.

Not too far from the supper club, I backed into the long driveway of a friend of mine, stopping just about 100 yards in. White horse fencing lined both sides of this wide driveway and I called my friend to let him know that it was me. I opened the trunk, adjusted a few things and then opening Janey’s door I held out my hand for her. She got out and looked up at the stars while I escorted her to the rear of the rental.

In the trunk I’d laid out three old quilts for padding. Janey’s eyes were huge when I spun her around and tied her wrists together behind her back. As I was tying a chest harness on her as a foundation for her elbow ropes, a pickup truck pulled up behind us, shining headlights on what I was doing. A man got out and whistled.

“God, my brother, you sure do know how to pick em’. She’s smokin’ hot. Hello, my old friend seems to be too busy tying you up to display any manners. My name is Samuel Harrison III, and this is my horse ranch. Welcome.” 

“Sam, this is Janey. Janey, Sam. I’ve known Sam since high school and all through college. Sam, Janey is the author I told you about on the phone.”

“She is way too hot for you, ol’ buddy. Janey, if you ever want to trade up, I know my way around ropes and knots, too. This ill-mannered heathen and I have been playing these games with our women for decades. Maybe one day he’ll bring you back this way for a civilized visit. We’ll have a barbeque. I’ll ply you with some of Kentucky’s finest, small batch bourbon, let you ride one of my show-ponies and tell you wild stories about this guy that will curl your toenails. My slave-wife Beth will love the company too. She doesn’t have many friends in the know, and for some reason, she misses her very first rigger.”

Shocked, Janey barely got out, “Okay, sure. Nice to meet you Samuel,” before I stuffed a wadding in her mouth and started wrapping micro-foam tape around her head to hold it in. By this time, she had white ropes wrapped, cinched and knotted around her ankles and heels, calves and thighs. I was tying her elbows close after gagging her and then I tied more ropes around her body to anchor all the other ropes before helping her lay down in the trunk. Sam stuck his head in and checked my handywork, smiled, kissed his fingers and touched Janey on the cheek. Her eyes were still saucer size as I turned on the baby monitor, tested it and laid it beside her before I closed the trunk. Sam and I talked for a long while before I got in and started to drive us home.

In a deserted parking lot close to Janey’s trailer park I opened the trunk, untied her and then helped her back into the passenger seat. She was still speechless, and the size of her eyes were quite wide and round. They did glow with a happy and sated light. Once in her doublewide, Janey did everything she could, including talking to me using her British accent, to jump my bones. Letting her have her way with me, we enjoyed the game and each other.


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