A Unique Gigolo

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; spank; brushes; flogger; rom; cons; X

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

Continues from

Part Five

Little kitten kisses woke me up. A beautiful, bound woman was torn between trying to kiss me and snuggle against me, rubbing soft and delightful woman flesh against me at the same time.

“Good morning woman. Ready to get beat?”

“Good morning Nick, my lord and master. You did such a masterful job of putting me to sleep like night, is it already time to introduce pain into my morning to let the endorphins wake me up in contrast to your more loving touches? I will gladly submit to whatever you feel is best, but can’t we just snuggle for another day or two?”

“Nope, I want to wake you up in a way I don’t think you’ve experienced.”

I got up and collected my instruments of torture, but before I brought them to our bed, I used the Lycra hood with the built-in blindfold to engulf her head. Pulled down halfway, I extracted a kiss that seemed a bit tentative. I knew she was nervous over what I intended to do to her. Then I pulled it the rest of the way down. Getting up to get my toys, I got a scarf from her drawer, brought it back and tied a cleave-gag through her mouth, over the hood.

“Now you know I have better ways of gagging you, but you need to learn more about how I feel about gags. I’ve played with them for a long time, and I have satisfied myself that there really is no way to silence a woman, especially when you play BDSM games with her. So, with that said, for now, the purpose of a gag like this is to tell the woman submitting to me that actual speech is not necessary. Noise is appropriate, but words have been taken away by the dominant in control of this situation. Words are neither welcome nor required. A mute animal, interested only in the sensations visited upon her flesh, is the preferred situation. I need no direction. My ministrations in this situation are purely for my amusement, and other than wriggling, writhing and some uncontrollable guttural noises, my beautiful pet must just endure what I will be doing to her, again purely for my enjoyment.”

Savannah grunted. I laughed. I could tell by her body that she was pouting, but anxious to find out what was coming next. Using the very pointy tip of my Sykes Fairburn knife and balancing it so that my touch was light, I started at the top of her chest and drew a long line down the center of her body. As soon as she recognized that it was a knife against her skin, Savannah stiffened up. All women, in my opinion, until they get used to the feel of it, shy away from the dangerous touch of a knife against their skin. Subliminally phallic, it is the epitome of danger. A silent threat to her very life. Yet, being touched like I was doing to her, Savannah felt the potential, but also the tickling touch of something tantalizing her skin with the delicate touch of someone she trusted. Enhancing this suspension of disbelief, I laid the cold steel of the knife flat against her sternum just long enough for her to recognize it as a knife, and then I picked it up again and attacked some of a woman’s most precious flesh, the two things that were the first to be noticed, especially by men, her breasts. Light, thin scratches traced the fullness of these treasures, making her shiver under my touch. At first, the broad strokes around the fullness of her globes was something that her mind could wrap around easily, but when I focused my knife’s touch to her very sensitive nipples, she stiffened, but moaned from the sensations this gave her.

Transitioning from her tits, I sat up, repositioned myself letting her wonder, and then attacked the other end of her body. With a hand on the ropes around her ankles to hold her in place, I attacked her feet. Mindlessly drawing little patterns on the tops of her feet got her giggling because it tickled, but when I grabbed both of her big toes and attacked the soles of her feet, she began bucking like a fish on the hook trying to get away. Being familiar with reflexology, I showed no mercy by hitting the nerve lines that made her feet a very sensitive part of her body.

Life suddenly changed when I added my tongue to these tortures. Long moans of encouragement came from her as I started kissing, licking and occasionally sucking on her toes. Then, when I went back to scratching her with the sharp tip of my knife the sounds became a bit petulant, turning into almost a whine for me to return to a touch that really pleased her.

As I picked up the coarse bristled hairbrush I said, “My choice, for my pleasure, my pet.”

My brush was not a flatly trimmed currycomb-like brush, but one with bristles coming up in different heights to massage the scalp. It was very scratchy, and I loved it for abrasion play. Using it like a paintbrush, I made broad strokes down the sides of her torso and up the flanks of her legs. She got used to this fairly quickly until I picked up one of her heavy tits by the nipple and lightly scoured the underside of her tit-meat. She quieted down quickly when I went back to touching that same tit with the tip of my knife, although I did hear a barely suppressed giggle almost come out. Picking up the fur mitt, Savannah got lost in the different sensations I introduced to her by alternating using the fur, and the bristles of my brush, my knife and my tongue. Naturally, my hand had to stroke her skin. I did enjoy that. That led to using my mouth to devour long patches of her skin, nipping her skin along the way, and then using one of my instruments of torture on her. She could not anticipate anything. I would pull her around, lifting a shoulder, or lift her legs to attack a patch of skin that came to mind, again with no pattern to the tools I used on her. I got creative with the mixture of my torments.

Going over the bruises and the hyper-sensitive skin on her butt drove her crazy. My mouth and tongue made her moan when I kissed her ass, but when I tapped her butt with the bristles of my brush, she kicked and bucked in her restraints. Smooth strokes by the fur mitt would calm her down until I took the point of the knife to the sides of her tits. Know for a fact that the tips of my fingers would lightly tickle parts of her, and my fingernails would score her skin making her arch her back and squeal.

Using my knife in one of my hands and a half-a-dozen pointy wooden skewers in my other to scratch and poke broader patches of her skin drove Savannah just a little crazy. By this time, she could barely recognize the difference between one point and a fistful of points, but they all sensitized the flesh of this woman. Sucking on a nipple while I drew the point of my knife over the super sensitive flesh on each side of her cleft made her quiver and whimper. Furry, pointy, scratchy, oral and then mixing them up and repeating all of them again drove Savannah a little crazy. And I did this for a long time. 

When I suddenly quit, and got off the bed, Savannah was totally lost to the world of rationality. She was the animal to sensation that I had wanted to draw out in her. With a piece of rope, I tightly tied her elbows close together and gently moved her onto her knees on the floor. 

Untying her cleave gag and lifting up the now slightly soggy hood until it kept her sightless but open again to the air, I guided her mouth onto my hard-on. When she gave me head the day before, she was in total control of my sexuality, using her skills to please me in time tested ways she had practiced and enjoyed. This morning, it was more raw, and uninhibited. She was feeding off my erection, using her mouth not as a skilled instrument but hungrily, as a starving woman enjoying the food that she needed to sustain herself. She was owned, wanton, dominated, yet tamed, servicing the man that controlled her feelings and emotions. Her oral ministrations were more natural and in that, very satisfying to me. Yesterday, she used her skills and today I had used mine. Savannah didn’t use her mouth this morning to collect every last drop of my cum, or to clean me with her tongue. She just did everything in her power to keep my penis in her mouth, until I shrunk up and pulled away.

I got up, untied her ankle ropes, lifted her to her feet and guided her, still arm bound into the shower. As I soaped her up, I untied the ropes before the knots got too wet and were pulled too tight to easily release them. With the hood still partially on, I guided her hands getting her to soap me up. Savannah worshiped my body, again with no rhyme or reason to her motions, just touching me where she wanted to touch me and letting the soap get me all wet and slick. As we made out, both of us were lost in emotions and desire. I finally removed the hood so she could wash her hair. Her silence spoke volumes.

As she sat at her dressing table, doing her hair and getting all pretty for me she was silent for a while, and then she looked at me in the mirror.

“You don’t give a girl a chance, do you?”

“If you’d wanted a chance, you’d be with one of those limp-dicked wimps with the fuzzy handcuffs and the pink ping-pong paddles shaped like a heart.”

Savannah threw her head back and laughed.

“True enough my lord and master. I do love how you dominate me.”

“As I love the submission I feel from you. You truly are feminine enough to please me. Your body is smokin’ hot, your responses are all female and you taste good. Your skin is smooth, soft and responds delightfully to my touch. You like the bondage I love to apply to restrain a woman like you and you are always hungry for more. I can easily see you becoming a wanton masochist, which pleases me, and your skills are focused by the largest sex organ in your body. Your mind. I like what we have and I’m falling in love with you.”

“Uh, Master Nick, thinking about it, you did ask me if I wanted to get beat, and aside from a few taps with that brush, you never really did get around to beating me.”

“My bad. I forgot to whip you,” and I stood up and moved over to her. Standing behind her, where she could look at me in the mirror, I cupped my left hand over her mouth, pulled her head back against me and the rubber pussy flogger from my pocket. I opened her robe and began to flog her tits.

Bungee cord, used to jump off tall things and bounce around as the cord absorbs the shock of changing inertia, is not a solid piece of rubber as some may suspect. Instead, it is a bundle of very thin lengths of rubber wrapped in an elastic tube. Some pervert must have been repairing a piece of it one day and got the idea to make floggers out of these thin lengths of rubber. They’re very popular now within the BDSM world, but I remember when they first came out. Someone shoved some of these through a piece of plastic tubing, stuck a large wooden bead on a bundle of it at the bottom and then again a few inches higher to make a handle, leaving scores of these thin pieces of rubber to dangle out one end so they could be used to flog someone. Eventually they were made into a variety of different lengths and thicknesses. I had a small one in my hand, with maybe thirty thin rubber tails about nine inches long. In my opinion, and probably many others, it made a perfect whip to flog sensitive areas on a woman’s flesh like the tits and pussy, and I was doing just that.

Watching Savannah watch herself as I flogged her tit-meat, and then getting her to open her legs so I could assault her pussy with this whip amused me. It also seemed to amuse her. She squirmed and giggled, moaning into the hand covering her mouth. I always liked the archetypal image of a man’s hand-gagging a woman so he could have his way with her. It did nothing to keep a woman quiet, unless she was in fear for her life, and it didn’t even keep her inarticulate, but I liked doing it and many women enjoyed their role in such play. Savannah was. Her nipples got hard and crinkled from the tender torments of a whip like this and I enjoyed looking at them in the mirror.

“You never know what a beating from me will entail my dear.”

“Yeth thur,” she mumbled, and she began to lick the hand over her mouth. Both of her other hands were busy holding up her tits so I could beat them. I liked seeing this. Her hands caressed her thighs as I beat her pussy and she rotated the placement of her hands with the targets I chose.

“Time to finish getting all pretty for me. I’m getting hungry. And use some of that ‘Throw me down and rape me perfume’. I like that stuff.”

Savannah laughed and said “Yes, Master Nick.”

While I rooted through her closet I said, “I bet it’s expensive.”

“Very. I worked with some chemist friends of mine and we synthesized my pheromones. I am a talented bioengineer. Then I took vials of them to one of Belgium’s most talented perfume chemists, and we decided on several personal and specific scents that were produced just for me to wear. With my pheromones enhancing them, it gives them that allure that you so quaintly called ‘throw me down and rape me’, which is basically the idea of any perfume to one degree or another. Women thrive on being wanted and desired, and with a man they love, something like being thrown down and just taken is very appropriate to her health and well-being.”

“This is cute,” and I pulled out a light little jumper made with a wisp of very sheer black fog covered in sky-blue lace appliques to give it a teasing quality of peek-a-boo over flesh.”

“Oh, I think you’ll like that one Nick. The shorts are high cut to show the curve of my butt, and it’s tight in all the right places. Actually, Claire picked out that one for me. She actually has a good eye for clothes that accentuate a woman’s figure to draw a man’s eye. Maybe if things work out between her and Jonathan, she’ll quit wearing those damned pantsuits. They work out there in the business world, but it kind of drives me crazy that she still wears them around here. Well, I guess we’ll see.”

Considering this jumper had a square neckline, which was one of my favorites for any woman with a pair of tits to show off, I chose another one of Savannah’s sheer demi-bras and a pair of mouth-filling black panties to go on over the pantyhose. Because she liked the compression, and I liked the feel of them on her legs, I laid out two pairs of black pantyhose for her. I really liked watching her put on, smooth out, adjust and then stretch her legs for the right fit in two pairs of pantyhose. I thought it was hot and very feminine.

Although in the back of my mind I thought that wandering around the collection of shoes in this shoe-whore’s side room was akin to a safari, I liked the idea of being able to choose just the right pair of heels that would accentuate the legs I enjoyed adorning. I chose a pair of blue sandals with a thin strap over her toes, another one over her instep and two going around her ankles. These had a five-inch heel and would show a lot of foot. I threw them on the pile. The jumper had those short little half-sleeves that barely covered her deltoids, so I went through her drawers and found a pair of stretch lace, fingerless half-sleeves for her to wear. 

Watching me as she did her make-up she said, “Those don’t really match that dress Nick.”

“Do you have a similar pair that do?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, we’re not going to a fashion show, and you are wearing just for my amusement, and, in my way of thinking, they’re going to get kind of lost under the ropes anyway, so wear them for me.”

“When you put it that way my lord and master, I’ll wear them proudly for you. Maybe my surprise will be here, and we can have some fun with it.”

“And what surprise would that be?”

“Master Nick, if I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it.”

As she turned away from her dressing table, I smiled and said, “Beautiful. I always loved the artistry of a woman making herself even more desirable with make-up.”

As she started to pull on the pantyhose, she looked up and asked, “What? No corset to squeeze me into?”

“No, I decided I wanted to feel woman flesh when I grabbed you today. Maybe later we’ll add one.”

“Whatever makes you happy Master Nick. I want to do everything I can to please you enough so that you’ll stick around and be my lord and master. I really like what you do to me, and I’m just greedy enough to want a lot more.”

With my pockets stuffed with ropes, panties, rolls of Kerlix and micro foam tape, we walked down to the dining room arm in arm, smiling at the start of another day. After giving Savannah my order for breakfast, I stopped off to check on Dan. Suzanne told me that he had been in and out of consciousness all morning, and that she wasn’t worried in the least. His vitals were good, his white count was in the good range and his scar looked like it would heal up nicely. I thanked her and told her I’d check back in a little later. Sam, who looked like he’d been there and on duty all night said that he or someone would find me if anything went haywire. I told him to get some rest, thanked him and wandered down the hall.

Coming down the hall was Siobhan, wearing a dry string bikini, and sandals with a modest three-inch heel. Her open robe gave me a show of her late-twenties woman flesh. Her hair was wet, and she had a damp towel in her hand. It wasn’t a stretch to see that she’d inherited her mother’s genes of tits, narrow flat waist and inviting breeder hips. Claire must have gotten her father’s side of the gene pool. Both sisters were pretty, even beautiful to the right eye, but they were decidedly different. Claire had a pear shape, with medium tits and a big butt. I had no idea what her legs looked like because she was always wearing pants, but Siobhan had gotten the hourglass figure, with prominent, if not overly large tits, for a body men noticed. 

She stopped in front of me, tilted her head and said, “Well, there’s the man of the hour. See anything you like?”

In a flat voice I replied, “A man that denies the enchantment of beauty is sad and a fool. You are a very attractive woman Siobhan. Been swimming?”

“Yes, we have one of those endless pools up on the roof and I was getting in some exercise. How’s Dan?”

“I just checked on him and he’s still out. Suzanne told me that he’s recovering well, and that he’ll be in and out for a while, and that that’s normal. She’s not worried.”

“Well, I guess hearing the same thing would be a waste, so I’ll go up and get cleaned up. Listen, considering I’ve never been tied up, would you give me a preview of what to expect from Dan when he’s able to get around better? You tied up Claire-bear, and I want to feel and experience what’s got mom in such a tizzy. After talking to her last night, I think I may have been missing out on something extraordinary. It’s not like you two are married or anything.”

“Let’s go talk this over with your mom. I’m the type of man that will not go behind her back, I don’t care how young and attractive you are. That would be the height of stupidity, and I’m neither a stupid nor a foolish man. I’ll tell you right now that it would not be the type of bondage I do with your mother. To me, it would be just another bondage class like I would give at the local dungeon back in LA, exactly like I did with your sister. There is a world of difference between tying up a woman for a class and exploring the power exchange of BDSM with someone that you care for. That, you’ll have to ask Dan for when he gets better. I won’t give you that, and there is an immense difference. If he gifts you with that, then you’ll understand what I mean.”

Like many women that can and do use their sexuality as a weapon, Siobhan was shocked and taken aback at my response. She was not used to men talking to her like that. The raw power of a confident dominant can wither the flirtation of a young woman that can manipulate most men the way a smart, educated woman of status like Siobhan can. I was in no way mean with my response, just intractable. 

“But mom was telling me, …”

“Like I said, let’s go talk it over with her. Your mother was relaying the emotional responses of a woman in the power of and used by an experienced BDSM dominant. With me, you would receive a limited experience from a talented Top, teaching a portion of the veneer of the world of BDSM, not something a dominant can do with a willing woman in a power exchange.”

Coming around the corner and up behind her daughter, Savannah put on her mom hat and said, “Honey, I love you, but he’s right. I had a long heart to heart with your sister after she auditioned Nick, and the stories she told me from her limited experience told me a lot about this man, but that just scratched the surface of what he's done to me in just the last two days. Now, I have no problem with him giving you a class about bondage and showing you the ropes. I’m sorry, but I just had to use that one liner,” and she chuckled. I’d like to see him when he’s in his teaching mode. But honey, that’s the same as a forty-five second movie blurb about a major Hollywood blockbuster. You’d need to find your own dominant to know what this man gives me. Now, c’mon my lord and master. Your breakfast is getting cold.”

Polly had put one of those half-dome covers over my plate to keep it warm. She was a good cook and I could feel arteries hardening as I dug into the double portion of homemade hash browns smothered in sharp cheddar. I scooped up my eggs, piled them on top and scrambled everything together, except for the bacon. That I ate piece by piece, because I enjoyed the flavor too much. My espresso tasted of a fresh-ground Hawaiian blend and my pineapple juice washed it all down. Then I enjoyed my hot apple strudel. I smiled.

“Where’s Claire? I didn’t see Jonny when I went in to check on Dan.”

“Lance breezed in just long enough to tell me that his ‘boss’ was playing ‘hostess’ to our wounded guest over in the other building and that ‘he’ would be overseeing our deliveries. He seemed quite miffed, but the little priss is just jealous that Claire is paying undue attention to another man. Lance is her personal assistant. She hired him, I didn’t. He’s technically efficient, and does a good job for her, but he has no sexual identity. I don’t know if he’s strait, bi, gay, dominant, submissive, a switch, or something so far off the norm that it’s unidentifiable, and that level of ambiguity bothers me. He’s what they call a metrosexual, and he uses more product in his hair than I do for a photo shoot and I suspect he waxes the hair off his face. No matter how open minded I try to be, he bugs me. Especially when he acts all prissy and jealous when Claire looks at another man. A real man that has proudly served his country, gets shot one day and is still ready to flirt with and play with my daughter while he’s hurting and still on the mend. I should fire Lance, but Claire likes the job he does for her. I guess he is a good paralegal and his office ethics are better than most, but he still grates against my last nerve.”

I got up and kissed her, petting her hair, pulled her face up and smiled.

“You can’t like everyone Savannah. He’s probably a good person, but just chooses different paths than we can’t wrap our heads around. As long as he doesn’t do anything to hurt Claire, then we shouldn’t judge him. We’re sure he is a him, right? After some of the experiences you’ve told me that you suffered through after your break-up, well I can see you being protective of your first born. However, if he, right, he, if he does a good job for her, let’s just mind our own business and try to enjoy our life. I’m enjoying being with you and I feel happy that Jonny and Claire seem to be getting along. That was what we were hoping for, right?”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t buy into other people’s emotions and ways of life. I have my own to revel in, and that workout you put me through this morning is still playing through my brain. Is there a name for what you did to me? I liked it, but I’ve rarely had that level of intensity at any time in the past. How long did we play anyway? It felt like forever. I loved it, don’t get me wrong, but it really took me out of myself. I couldn’t begin to guess what you were going to do to me next. It just lit up every nerve I had. I woke up from some wonderful dreams, and then you did that to me. You amaze me Nick, my lord and master. How did I get so lucky? Don’t go anywhere and please, please, please keep doing things like that to me. I’ll be good, I promise.”

“It’s called abrasion play, and I tormented your beautiful hide for well over an hour. The whole idea of it is to sensitize the little nerve endings just a few cells under the surface of your skin and to get them so excited that you have to pay attention to them. Usually, we forget what a vast and wonderful organ of sensation our skin is. We don’t really feel the clothes we wear. Touches are generally ignored, and few know how to sustain the process of sensitizing those nerves to force you to feel your skin. All of your skin, and everywhere. Again, suspension of disbelief is a big part of it. And full sessions of dedicated skin arousal take a long time and utilize all sorts of tools and toys. I’ve seen people cum from just the Top blowing his breath against their skin after an intense session. Wait until I drop you into deep sensory deprivation, suspend you in the air, and attack you with all the tools at my disposal.”

“Oh my God Master Nick! You can do more to this old skin of mine?”

“First off, it ain’t old. I like it, and we’ve got our whole lives together, and all the time in the world for me to do things to you that will put a smile on your face and make you scream when I rack orgasms out of you, one after another, just for our mutual fun.”

“You make me a greedy bitch in heat, ready to feel it all. Okay, part of your surprise is that Uncle Clayton, the contractor is up in the Perch right now, so we should go up and fill his head with ideas. Nick, I don’t know if he’s in the scene, or not, I doubt it, but he’s an old family friend, trusted like a member of the family, and a very talented man that can build or have built anything we can ask of him. He loves me too much to judge anything you and I do, as long I’m smiling and not hurt. To give you a bit more background, my father, when he was a young man saved Clayton’s family from drowning in a flood many, many years ago by rowing a boat, by himself through fast moving water to rescue his entire family off of a roof that was about to go under. Then daddy set him up in his own workshop and sent enough business to him so he could eventually put all seven of his kids through college. Like I said, he’s an old family friend and he’s very talented. C’mon, I want you to meet him.”

We passed Lance in one of the empty rooms on the same floor as the Perch, doing inventory in a room quickly filling up with all sorts of boxes being brought up by people I assumed were employees of Savanna’s. She dragged me by the hand into the Perch and ran into the arms of an old man giving specific instructions to two middle-aged men making a big hole in the wall. This man, Clayton, was older than me but stood up tall and straight with the whipcord sinewy look of a man that had worked with his hands all of his life. His crew cut hair was white and he stood a little over six-foot. His wide shoulders swallowed Savannah in a bear hug, and she peppered his face with little kisses.

“Uncle Clayton, meet Nick. He’s the man that’s changing my life for the better and putting a smile on my face again. We’ve come to say hello and fill your head with projects for you to build for us. Please, Uncle Clayton. This means a lot to me.” and her smile beamed at him. “This is going to be our new playroom. Nick is very knowledgeable, about many things, and I want him to tell you about the things we want you to help us with up here.”

He turned to me and those blue eyes bored into me, telling me without ever saying a word how protective of Savannah he was. His handshake was rock-hard firm, but again, this man had worked with his hands all of his life. His smile was sincere and showed me that he still had all of his teeth.

“Pleased to meet you Nick,” he said in a voice that was as bass as any I’ve heard. “Sounds like you are part of the family now, so welcome my boy. These are two of my sons, Andy is on the saws-all and Wil is my daughter’s husband. Both are good men. Now, what can I help you with?”

Using terms and descriptions that were as exacting as I could make them, without going into the sordid explanations of what these things would be used for, I told him about the way I wanted the ceiling rigged so the remote controlled pulleys could be moved on a rail system to exactly where I wanted them to go. I told him that I wanted them over-engineered so they could support much more weight than I would ever need hoisting Savannah up and suspending her off the floor. 

Without calling it that, I told him about the pole I wanted as a whipping post, where I wanted it, and then we talked about the types of hardwoods he could make it out of. I told him where I wanted the antique-looking pegboards, and how I wanted the pegs to look. I also told him about the size and types of hardpoints I wanted around the room and where I wanted them. 

Savannah and I described the pirate’s chest that Savannah wanted. She gave him the approximate dimensions and how she wanted it to look. She told him about the chests of drawers she wanted, and how many she wanted. He assured her he could give them the antique look she wanted. 

Next, I told him that I wanted a long, low cage built with a thickly padded top and how I wanted the door to latch with an electronic latch, with a battery back-up for emergencies, and how I wanted sideboards to cover the bars on the cage. We discussed airflow and soundproofing it as much as possible.

Savannah wanted a St. Andrew’s cross that was hinged and could be folded up against the wall. I added some easily bolted on sections that could turn this into an eight-sided star, which would be better for bondage, and where I wanted the hardpoints to go.

I told him about the queen-sized bed I wanted made out of schedule-40 steel pipe and how sturdy I wanted the top and canopy. I called this bedframe an earthquake bed, and he nodded and even commented on how structurally sound a bed frame like that would be, even during one of the eight-pointers.

The last special project I described to him was the metal bondage chair I’d told Savannah about. While he took notes on his iPad, sketching out dimensions for my approval, he tried hard to ignore the fact that I used his tape measure to actually measure parts of Savannah. I gave him exacting specifics for this piece and he actually raised an eyebrow when I told him about the very small ventilation fan. I knew it was to pull the CO2 away from the one sitting in the chair but didn’t tell him anything he didn’t need to know. 

As an afterthought, because both Savannah and I had forgotten about them, we asked him to put as many full-length mirrors on the walls as could fit on them. We decided that the pegboards could be hinged at the top and have lines attached to them so that they could be lifted up by remote controlled motors towards the ceiling to reveal the mirrors. Clayton said he’d add mirrors even where there were no pegboards. Both Savannah and I smiled.

This man entered copious notes onto his iPad and double checked all of his figures with me. We measured the floorspace to make sure everything would fit, and between the two of us we double, and triple checked everything. When we were out on the balcony and a bit away from Savannah, he looked at me and said, “I wouldn’t want to see anything happen to my Savvy. No careless accidents, or thoughtless neglect. Are we square?”

“Yes, sir. Neither would I. That’s why I was as specific as I could be and wanted many of these things over-engineered. I’m very protective of her well being too, physically, mentally and spiritually. This woman means a lot to me and we want to push the envelope, for our own consensual enjoyment. I have decades of experience and have put it all into this effort. She’s a keeper, very precious and unique, and I want a long productive life with her.”

“Okay. I’ll do the best job I can for the two of you.” Laughing, he looked at me and said, “You’d better take her down and find some way to entertain her before she gives me more projects than this room can hold.”

Shaking his hand again, I said “My thoughts exactly. It was my pleasure to meet you, and my best to you and yours. Savannah, let’s go see what Vance is up to,” and I took her by the hand so Uncle Clayton could get to work.

“Nick, my lord and master, if it’s all the same to you, after having the smell of sawdust and real testosterone in my nostrils, I really don’t want to deal with that, that, …”

“Okay, I got the message. Let’s go down this way then. I should check on Dan again anyway. We’ll walk around the outside. Do you think we should peek in and do a little spying on Claire and Jonny?”

“No, you evil man,” and she laughed. “Let’s give them every chance in the world to make something out of all this.”

We really didn’t have to look for the two of them. Jonny was back in the infirmary. He’d popped a couple of stitches and leaked a little on the furniture of the other mansion, but with one look at them, anyone could instantly see that they had been having fun. Claire glowed, smiled brightly and very submissively hovered over her man to pet him when Suzanne wasn’t in the way. Her skin was dented all over with rope marks. Jonny looked cocky and I could tell each of them was deep in infatuation with the other. I smiled.

Dan looked over at all of us and said, “Hiya Nick. Listen, considering this is a one-stop fix-it shop, you guys got one of those for me?”

Jonny threw his pillow at him, Claire turned suddenly and then what started as a giggle turned into a delightful laugh. Savannah looked at me with an unmistakable expression that said, ‘Well, I certainly know where he gets it from’ and smiled with the proverbial Cheshire Cat grin. Suzanne just kept checking my friend, taking readings and making notes on his chart.

“Don’t worry guys. Siobhan’s already been in, pulled the covers off my secret identity and flirted her cute little ass off with me. By the way, thank you very much Miss Webster. I owe you one, maybe two or three, but you have my sincere thanks for the assist and for patching us up. You have favors banked with us. That’s a promise and you have my word. Now, Nick. You were right, she is smokin’ hot and should be a real keeper. Miss Webster, there’s not much doubt that you’ll be the one to take this dog out of the pound. Several times over the years, when we were nursing beers to dilute the bourbon we’d been drinking, Nick used to describe a woman that looks just like you as his fantasy woman and he used to say he’d do a lot to have a woman like that. You look happy, so I’m hoping it’s a done deal with him. You happy with her Nick?”

“Yea buddy, she makes my heart smile and my dick hard.”

“Miss Webster, that’s high, no, the highest praise from a guy like Nick. With most women it’s one or the other.”

“Daniel, I’m glad to see you are on the mend, and it’s Savannah, not Miss Webster. My new lord and master ‘keeps’ a smile on my face, and my heart is bursting with love for him. I’m sure you can imagine what he does to make me this happy.”

Turning to her daughter, she asked, “Is Jonny here being a gentleman with you?”

Blushing like a schoolgirl, Claire said, “No mother, he isn’t. He’s being a dominant,” and she flashed a sated woman smile.

I looked at Savannah and said, “At least she’s learning the lingo.”

“And by the looks of those rope marks, she’s learning a lot more than that,” Savannah commented.

Claire smiled, ran her fingers over the dents on her wrist, and talking to no one in particular, said, “They are pretty, aren’t they?”

Just then Jonny reached down and grabbed a handful of her butt. Claire squealed, giggled and went back to petting him. I nodded at him and smiled.

“Nick, my rope marks from this morning are fading. Please, if I tell you where there’s more rope, will you put some more rope marks on me,” asked Savannah in a sultry voice that told everyone what she wanted them to hear.

“More rope,” said Jonny, perking up? “Nick, you did not give me enough for a gorgeous woman like Claire here. You gonna’ share?”

“Do you remember seeing all those boxes that Vance was inventorying? I’d bet that there’s some rope in them.”

“Of course, there is mother. I ordered more rope the first day that Nick put a smile on your face, and I scheduled all deliveries for one-day service. There should be miles of rope up there, along with all sorts of other toys and surprises. I had a long list already prepared, and just opened up the files and hit send to the different distributers. And it looks like I’m going to have to order more, if I can convince Sir Jon to stay for a while. He’s awakened the dragon, and the dragon is hungry.”

Jonny smiled and said, “Go on up with them my Were-Claire and bring back lots of rope and anything your mother will let you pilfer from their store of toys that you think would look interesting to play with. You have a lot of learning to do, and I haven’t even really started your education.”

“Were-Claire,” I asked? “As in lycanthropy?”

“To be more specific Nick, she’s turned into an ailuranthrope. Lycans are were-wolves, but a therianthrope that transforms from a human into a cat creature is specifically called an ailuranthrope. Were-Claire here is like a very feminine cat when the ropes transform her. Actually, a hyper-feminine cat. Did you ever see the movie Cat-People with Malcolm McDowell and Natasha Kinski? Well, Claire’s purrs can be deafening. Maybe one day you’ll see what she turns into when I release the woman from the lawyer, with the proper applications of ropes. It’s dramatic, and I like it, a lot.”

“Savannah, Jonny is also a wordsmith, on top of having a true gift for languages. I’ve beat it into his head to keep the blinders on so he doesn’t blind people with his words, but when pinned down, he says exactly what he means in such a way that there can be no doubt that he knows whereof he speaks.”

“I learned two new words just now. Who knew? So, my little girl is a she-cat. Again, who knew? C’mon honey, you know that I always want the best for you and my other girls, and I share most of my things. Not Nick, of course, but almost anything else, so let’s go raid the stores and get you and Jonny some more rope and some other toys to play with.”

“Guys, we’re going shopping. No, not shopping. They’ve already done that. We’re going harvesting. I’ll check up on you later.”

Sometimes the buying power of a billionaire still astounds me. Sure, in the back of your mind you know they can buy anything they want, and as much as they want, but when you see firsthand displays of their actual buying power, it boggles the mind.

One room had rope in it. Each and every type of rope. Looking around I saw single braid, double braided, hollow nylon braid, hollow flat-wound, diamond braided, twisted nylon, and rope in polyester, polyurethane, cotton, with and without a core, silk, actual hemp, manila from the abaca plant, jute, coconut, even Kevlar rope. And this was just what I could recognize without actually reading the labels on the spools and packages.

Then I noticed that they were sorted by thicknesses. We had twine, in most of the flavors, eighth-inch, quarter-inch, 5/8th- inch, and thank God she had stopped at half-inch. Each of the thicknesses was found in each one of the types of rope. It was mind boggling. The room was full of rope, in all sizes, all types, and all by the spool. Claire bragged that there was at least 5,000 feet of each size and type. 

And now comes the insanity of her attempt to impress her mother, who had decided to be a rope-slut. Considering that I liked braided nylon and braided cotton best, in twine, eighth, and quarter inch widths, she got spools of these two types of rope in rainbow colors. Not only were there the popular primary colors of white, red and black, she’d found three different shades of gray, light blue, sky blue, neon blue and royal blue, light green, grass green, neon green, and forest green, (a darker hue), fuchsia, magenta, royal purple, lavender and burgundy, sun yellow, neon yellow, tan, orange, neon orange, and for those that were really wondering, pink. Claire said there was at least 3,000 feet in each of these colors. This was on top of all the multi-colored wound ropes. I’d never imagined so damned much rope. I was losing my mind, and although both Savannah and Claire looked very pleased with themselves, fingering the different styles and colors, and chatting gayly about their favorites, I had to go out into the hall just to sort through my mind, which was hallucinatory from the psychedelia of it all. To say I was just overwhelmed was like saying a mouse was an elephant. 

This was probably a 20’ x 30’ room and it was so full you could barely move around in it.

She’d also bought a variety of shears and rope cutters. Even the safety shears came in a rainbow variety of handle colors. By the door were searing machines that automatically cut the rope and vats of colored tool-dip to seal the ends of the rope once it was cut. Claire had not missed a trick.

The next room over was just as big and just as full, but the variety was a bit different. By the door was tape. She’d bought Kerlix, Vet-Wrap, rolls of what they call bondage tape, which is just rolls of vinyl used to wrap around someone. Sometimes it sticks to itself and sometimes it just hangs there and eventually unravels. I personally don’t like the stuff, but Claire bought a bunch of it, probably because it was, ‘bondage tape’. There was sports tape, porous medical tape, paper tape, micro-foam tape (which was what I preferred to use for gags), cloth tape, electrician’s tape, (in several colors), and the inevitable duct tape, in several different varieties, from Duck tape, (best for skin and hair), to duct tape (which was a little stickier), and on to Gorilla tape, (which was great for repair jobs, but death on the skin of a submissive, unless you liked dermal tearing and blood spotting upon removal). I won’t even mention the hobby-print rolls of decorator duct tape. Again, we’re talking about an untrained newbie, with an unlimited expense account, access to online catalogs and trying to impress someone paying mere lip-service to the genre. Every roll came in every commonly available width, color and by the box. 

God love her, but Claire went wild with the ball-gags she bought. Hard, soft, rubber, silicone, whiffle, foam and hollow plastic, and again in every available color and size, and of course, with the straps dyed different colors. 

While I was sorting through the labels on the boxes, I told Claire that unless Jonny, or eventually Dan told her to specifically keep these, to return, give away, or throw away any and all of the ring gags, or spider gags she’d bought. I told her to do the same thing with the metal bit-gags, the dental mouth-opener gags and the several branks head-cage gags she’d bought because they were in the catalog. I told her I liked to have fun with BDSM, and not cater to the commercialism that had invaded those that really didn’t understand the genre, or just had too much money to spend on having the latest and weirdest toys to use on somebody. Claire started to cry.

Pulling Claire into the hall I gave her a hug, patted her in my own fatherly way, let her cry it out and said, “I know you tried your best and just wanted to please. You get an ‘A’ for effort. It’s really my fault for not having the time to give you specifics, instead of letting you just order the whole catalog with a black AmEx card in your hand. 

“Most of this stuff you’ve never played with and have only seen pictures of in a catalog. The models are paid to make it look like they’re happy wearing these things. In reality, it’s just a job for them to look pretty enough to sell this shit. Only some of them are even involved in the real scene. These are catalog models, not fetish models. At any rate, we don’t need most of this stuff. Most of this is for the weekend warriors trying to impress the adventurous and partially drunk date with something glitzy that looks a little kinky. Your mom talks shit about the guys she tried dating with the fuzzy handcuffs and pink ping-pong paddles shaped like a heart. God love ‘em, but that stuff’s just for spicing up the weekend romps, not for real BDSM practitioners. Trust me. Jonny can and will teach you the difference, and you’ll thank him for it.

“I’ll keep Savannah right here with me, but we’ll go over what to keep and what to send back for a refund. I suggest you go get Jonny, wheel him up here and see what he wants to keep to use on you. I think you’ll be surprised. 

“I’m going to start with Savannah, and we’re going to go through the rope room first. We’re going to end up putting a good 40% of what you bought out in this hall to send back. Most of the rope you bought is usable, but impractical for play. Tying a boat to a dock, yes, but tying a woman to a bed, or a chair, no. Most of the time with BDSM you don’t have to worry about the elasticity of the rope, whether it will be affected by UV waves, or damaged by natural elements like saltwater. I give my students a similar lecture about the fancy knots they learn to impress someone. Tying macramé clothing on a woman for artistic decoration is not everyday bondage. Special knots work for the Navy, again to tie boats to docks and secure crates on the deck so they don’t fall overboard, but you want to know the truth? The only knots I’ve used on your mother, and on you for that matter, are square knots, half-hitches, and bow knots to look pretty. There are actually a few more that can be practical, but in regular play, you don’t need to get fancy. You need to show your partner that you care, not how fancy the knot you tied on them is. Now, the colored rope is practical, and some of the natural fiber ropes have a good place in a play box to use when you want something different, but Kevlar rope? Please. That’s mostly for industrial use. Sweetheart, this all comes to light with experience and I guess it’s time to put my teaching hat back on.

“Now go get Jonny. He’s the best one to teach you about this. He may be acting like a smart-assed kid, because he’s infatuated with you, but never doubt his intelligence, or knowledge base. And trust me in this too. He would have used the ‘get me out of this’ code to me if he wasn’t falling for you. Over the years we’ve established a whole second language of personal codes to tell each other what we don’t want others to know. And we can use them in plain old English, right in front of anyone, and no one suspects a thing. He likes you, and I pray that you won’t break his heart.

“Now wipe those tears away, stop off and fix that pretty face of yours and go get Jonny. The four of us will work as a family to fix this and get productive with our playtime. Okay?”

“Yes sir. And I really did mean well. I’ll go get Sir Jon.”

As she scuttled away Savannah came around the corner from the rope room and said, “I can see why she called you pedantic and that you tend to blather a bit when you get excited. You were gracious though and for that I thank you. Now come in here and help me sort through what I want you to tie around me. All the colored rope stays of course. I can always find outfits to wear that these colored ropes will compliment, but what is Kevlar rope, and is it pretty? Isn’t Kevlar the stuff the bullet resistant vests are made out of? Is that stuff for tying up Supergirl,” and she laughed?

I started to give her the lecture on which rope for which job, but decided to go in and find the colored, quarter-inch braided nylon rope that would offset this dress and make her look even prettier.

Continues in


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