The Studio - Chapter Two

by John Roper

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© Copyright 2006 - John Roper - Used by permission

Storycodes: M+/f; bond; tickle; sbf; cons; X

(story continues from )

The Studio - Chapter Two by John Roper

Chapter Two - Stephanie's Coming Out Party

When Stephanie Danner turned thirty-six, she decided to give herself a gift, one that, she hoped, would finally satisfy her curiosities concerning certain fantasies she’d been having for more than 25-years.  How she learned of The Studio’s existence, and of what we were all about, remained a mystery to me, one that I was determined to solve, given the security measures we’d painstakingly maintained since our 2001 opening. But that was a matter to be dealt with at a more suitable time.

A beautiful spring day served to make my first meeting with Stephanie all the more enjoyable. Since she’d been calling most of the shots, up to now, and since I had no idea how much she knew about The Studio, my instincts decided to play things by ear for a while. She chose the Sheep Meadow in Central Park as an initial meeting place, and told me to walk to its center and keep an eye out for a black blanket, a wicker picnic basket, and a blond, sitting barefoot in the Lotus position, meditating.

She was easy to spot in her plain, ivory dress. I approached slowly, drinking in the peaceful aura of her classic lines as the noonday sun added its own complimenting glow to Stephanie’s transcendent countenance. Her eyes popped open when I was within five feet of the blanket.



“Won’t you join me?”

I removed my boots and sat, Indian style, directly in front the new damsel in my somewhat atypical life.


“I could eat.”

She opened her picnic basket and slowly spread out its contents on the blanket. I opened the bag I’d brought and grabbed the neck of the Pepsi bottle inside. As we ate the taste tempting variety of goodies Stephanie had carefully selected and prepared for the occasion, we revealed more of ourselves to each other before on-ramping the super highway of our primary motivations.

“This sure beats a private chat room,” noticed Stephanie as I poured a second helping of Pepsi into one of the plastic glasses she’d brought to our little lawn party.

I did my best not to get right to the point by opening the deeper end of the conversation with “Your picture does not do you justice.”

“Thank you. You’re easy on the eyes yourself.”

I’d already laid a few accolades on the five-foot-four, one hundred-twenty pound beauty after she sent me her head shot. Stephanie’s body language suggested she was having a difficult time adjusting to the realization of the moment. She’d never been face-to-face with a guy like me, although I didn’t know that at the time.

“How’s the tuna salad?”

I smiled and did a few minutes of food chat before putting us back on track while, whether purposefully or otherwise, her searching blue eyes flashed all kinds of hidden meanings at me.

“So how, exactly, did you find out about The Studio?”

Her composure winced a bit before a deep breath and a downward, wide-eyed stare suggested Stephanie preferred to keep dancing around the matter rather than tackle it, head-on. And, in the meantime, as a way of distracting my investigative determination, she made sure her posture and sitting positions gradually revealed more of her legs to my split-second, snapshot glances.

“You know, I’m not one to beat around the bush,” she realized.

“You could have fooled me.”

“But I do have a lot on my mind about this, and it hasn’t been easy to sort out, especially now that we’ve met.” She cleared her throat and put down her sandwich. “I find you wonderfully attractive, both physically and intellectually, and because you are who you are, and do what you do, that attraction is having a seriously unbalancing effect on my self-control.”

I decided to dig a bit deeper into Stephanie’s seriously disrupted comfort zone.

“Having second thoughts?”

She looked me straight in the eye.

“On the contrary; if anything, my second thoughts have been on the back burner, with the heat off, since you took off your boots.”

A quip seemed appropriate.

“Would you prefer I put them back on?”

She smiled.

“That won’t be necessary.”

It was crunch time, and she knew it.

“Would you like me to take over?”

Her smile took on a nervous edge as she said, “Yes, please, that would be entirely appropriate at this point.”

I reached into my inside jacket pocket for a Studio form and handed it to Stephanie while saying, “Read this and call me when you’re ready to sign and have it witnessed.”

She looked up at me as I put on my boots, “Then what?”

“How about we just take it from there and see what happens,” I suggested while standing. “Got anything for me?”

She remembered, “Oh- right,” reached into her basket for an envelope, which she handed to me while saying, “It’s all there; every aspect, just like you asked.”

“Good,” I said as I took her hand. We shook. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“Likewise,” she said as a wave of disappointment at my leaving so soon swept over her classic features. “So I guess the ball is still in my court.”

She stood. I placed my other hand over our shake. She did the same with hers. Nothing was said as we looked deeply into each other’s eyes for a good five seconds, after which I said, “Talk to you soon, I hope.”

“Me too.”


Four days passed, during which I read her list of fantasy specs, of which there were many, and my latest challenge considered, deliberated and soul-searched the possible consequences those preferences could demand of her courage, not to mention Stephanie’s sensually corporeal thresholds.


The Fifth day

“Hi, it’s Stephanie Danner.”


Her silence spoke volumes.

“…When can we...?”?

“Tomorrow night.”

Four Hours Later

We met under the Washington Square arch and walked north on Fifth Avenue for several blocks. Our Chat was pedestrian (no pun intended).

She wore a tight fitting, black suit, with high cut skirt and six-inch, black heels and hose. The blouse was white silk with a lush collar, French cuffs and gold coin links. I marveled at how gracefully she managed to negotiate the walk in the pumps. The looks they inspired from passersby added all kinds of self-conscious colors to the rainbow forming in Stephanie’s experimenting libido.  

“Great outfit.”

“Thanks. I bought it just for this occasion.”

We stepped into a café and sat at a table already occupied by my personal assistant, Cindy Coyle.

“Cindy, meet Stephanie.”



I placed The Studio release form in front of its newest participant and said, “Cindy will witness the signing.”

“Then what?” asked Stephanie as I handed her a pen.

“Do you have the one I gave you?”

She pulled it from her jacket pocket and handed it over before signing, while Cindy did her end of the consummation, passing the original to me and the copy to Stephanie before doing her best to act like she wasn’t there.

Danner placed it in her pocket and said, “Well, I guess this is it.”

I stood and reached for her hand. She did the same and walked ahead of me and out the door of the café.

“How we doing?”

She gave me an anxious look and asked, “Can’t you guess?”

Four silent blocks went by before I steered her into and to the end of a narrow, side street alleyway. A green door greeted us.

“Open it.”

I was impressed with Stephanie’s willingness to cooperate. As we stepped through the doorway, a curious, musty odor greeted us.

“Don’t you just love the smell of old buildings?”

We descended a ramp and ended up in dimly lit hallway. Several lengths of old clothesline hung from its walls. I grabbed a ten-footer and said, “Turn around.”

Stephanie knew what was coming, so she didn’t resist when I pulled her arms behind her back and quickly and tightly bound her elbows together.

“Is this The Studio?” she asked, in a way that more than just suggested her moment of truth was riddled with uncommon exhilaration.

I said nothing while binding her wrists, under the cuffs, palm-to-palm, with a fiver. Her suit jacket bulged nicely in front.

“Ohhhh,” she said as I backed her up against the wall and knelt to remove her skirt. She stepped out of it without batting an eyelash, and watched as I applied a crotch rope from a lasso around her waist, between her legs, under and through one of the wrist cinch circles, back between her legs and on up again to the waist rope. I tightened the configuration enough to dig the ropes deeply into Stephanie’s pantyhose, panties and rapidly moistening pussy.


“There’s an address on the wall behind you,” I said while reaching for a bright red, crushed velvet cape. I placed it over her shoulders and zipped up the knee-length garment to the neck while saying, “I’ll be waiting for you there.” I then placed her skirt in the plastic bag I’d stuffed into my back pocket earlier, placed its handles into her right hand, and said, “Hold onto this.”

With that, I stood, turned, and ran up the ramp and out the green door.


Stephanie was suddenly beside herself with fear and intense sexual excitation. It then occurred to her not to get too loud, given the possibility of others being within earshot. There she stood, holding onto the bag and wondering if I was just kidding. A few, very tentative seconds passed as she appraised the situation and held the skirt bag tightly in her hand.

‘OMG, he serious.’

The first thing she did was try to escape the rope work. The more she did, thanks to the crotch rope and the impossibility of the situation, the hotter Stephanie got.

‘What was that he said about an address?’

She turned to look at the wall, memorized what was written on it, and got stuck in a very long moment of indecision.

“Hey, Boomer!” shouted a gruff male voice from somewhere behind one of the doors down the hall. “Is that you?”

Stephanie was up the ramp and, thanks to my tying the green door open, out into the alley in less than five seconds. The sun had gone down while we were in the basement hallway.

“This is crazy,” she appraised while focusing on the street ahead and tugging on the crotch rope. “This is absolutely NUTS!”

“Boomer! Is that you?” asked the voice below again, which achieved its desired effect, propelling Stephanie further into her disorientation and towards the second unexpected wrinkle in the fantasy I designed to contain as many of the elements on her list as possible.

A line from that list surfaced as she walked briskly towards the unknown.

‘Feel free to inject appropriate elements to the play as your experience suggests.’

She then remembered having doubts about whether or not to open that door to my bondage-kinky imagination. But it was too late now to make any course corrections. All Stephanie knew was that she had to keep her wits about her and not appear to be in any sort of distress.

‘Yeah- right,’ she thought before stepping out onto East 23rd Street and into the rush of humanity a Saturday always precipitated around that time of night.

The address on the wall flashed before her as she scolded herself for not having a better working knowledge of Manhattan Island.

“Who knew,” quipped Stephanie as she pulled herself together, turned left, and headed for Fifth Avenue.

‘This is amazing. I’ve never in my life been horny in pedestrian traffic.’

She was immediately aware of how difficult it was to walk in her six-inch pumps and be tied up at the same time. Then there was the added challenge of having to navigate a living obstacle course through the canyons of the largest city on earth, while pondering the possible consequences ahead.

‘It’s north,’ she speculated while approaching Fifth Avenue and doing her best to deal with the unprecedented distress of her first Studio adventure.

“Hey, cutie,” said an actor who owed me a favor as Stephanie waited for a light to turn green. “Wanna play some ‘Johnny On The Pony’?”

She did her best to sound unperturbed but forceful.

“Beat it creep.”

She immediately regretted her choice of words.

“Love to,” said the surly looking Studio regular as he and his co-star stepped into the street and headed north. “I’ll beat it all you want.”

Stephanie made two tight fists and tried but failed to resist the impulse to pull on her crotch rope.

‘Good grief, this is inSANE!’

“Is this lout bothering you, dear Damsel?”

Stephanie turned to the sound of my voice, but said nothing as her mouth dropped open with surprise. I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her lips to within an inch of mine.

“You’re headed in the wrong direction. Kiss me and I’ll accompany you to the next part of the fantasy. Or would you prefer I left you alone again.”

A very important ten seconds or so sped by as Stephanie baby blues locked onto my dark browns and tugged on the rope between her legs. I brought my lips closer to hers. Her expression melted to dead pan; her eyes closed halfway as she gazed into mine, telling me all I needed to know. The kiss went on for several, heart-pounding seconds…

“Right,” I said as I stepped away and to the curb, where a double parked cab waited. I opened its rear door and looked back at Stephanie, saying, “Well?”

My actor friend was long gone, but Danner didn’t bother to look for him. After recovering from our first wet one, she turned and headed for the cab door and did her best to step in. I helped her, got in myself, and said, “Go” to the driver before forcing Damsel Danner onto the floor on her stomach. Her ankles were soon crossed and bound with a length of rope from my jacket pocket. My knees effectively clamped around them to ensure minimum mobility.

The cab driver smiled when he heard the howls of Stephanie’s laughter. I’d instructed him to make sure we didn’t get to where we were going for at least 15-minutes, during which I continuously tickled feet and listened to the hysterical litany of no-choice feedback Jersey girl Stephanie Danner had come to New York to semi-reluctantly experience in tight rope bondage.

“Just thought I’d give you a taste of your current future,” I said while rolling down the windows so all within earshot could hear.

Stephanie thrashed and writhed furiously as the first orgasm of the night affected her laughter in a way the cab driver could not quite identify or remember hearing in his 28-year life


Twenty-Two Minutes Later

Getting Stephanie up to The Studio, let alone out of the cab and onto her feet, was no easy task. I blindfolded her when we got into the elevator. She said nothing, but the look in her face spoke volumes to the flood of indescribable, emotional and physical attentiveness she had been continuously dealing with since the elbow cinch had been knotted some thirty-some-odd minutes earlier.

“Having fun?”

“What’s going to happen now?” she asked, with a slight tremor in her tone and the unmistakable, physical reflection of satisfied exhaustion no-choice orgasms tend to cause.

I said nothing until reaching the fourth floor and guiding Stephanie into reception and its outer hallway, through another that ended at a back entrance to what was behind door number one.

“See you later,” I said before locking her in a room that, except for a wide assortment of bondage gear in chests and hanging from its walls, was sparsely furnished with a few chairs, a 6-inch-in-diameter pipe pole in its center, a mirrored wall, and a pedestal.

“Good evening,” spoke a male voice. “I’m Jack, a student of erotic art.”

Other voices introduced themselves, all male, and all sounding less than 25-years of age. Stephanie counted a total of 4 different students in all. Without intending to do so, the skirt bag she’d been carrying fell to the floor behind her.

‘I’m obviously losing my grip,’ she half joked to herself.

“We’ve been instructed to prepare you for your coming out party,” continued Jack. “We do hope you will be pleased with the fix we decided upon for the main event of the evening.”

Hands were suddenly all over Stephanie’s body, untying her arms, wrists and crotch rope; removing her jacket and blouse until she wore nothing but her push-up, strapless bra, panties, hose, heels and blindfold. She just stood there, waiting for something to happen, knowing, full well, the college kinks were checking out every luscious inch of her well toned and tanned anatomy. A minute or two passed before she was moved to remove the blindfold.

But before she could, Stephanie was grabbed by six strong hands and lifted off the floor. She struggled wildly, enjoying every second of the first time event as she was carried to the red velvet cushioned pedestal, where she was placed on her stomach and held down.  Her struggling turned fierce, but to no avail.

The rope bondage students worked swiftly, using several turns of quarter inch thick soft line to parallel bind her elbows and wrists together behind her back. Three tightly cinched circles, above and below her knees, and at her ankles secured her legs together as well.

It didn’t take her long to realize she was being bound by experts, and that she was a good 3-4 feet off the floor.

The heels were removed and a hogtie line knotted to the elbow cinch. It ran down to and between the back of Stephanie’s knees, then up and between her shins, over the calve cinch, and back to the elbow bind, where it was threaded under one of the cinch circles. Jack began to pull out the slack. While he did, two of the other students lifted Stephanie’s knees and shoulders off the table, thereby arching her back while the remaining slack was removed. The elbow cinch tightened severely.


They held her like that until Jack hogtied Stephanie’s wrists to her ankles with less than six-inches of slack.

Stephanie was then laid on her side to apply a double strung lasso around her waist. Its pull line was then threaded between her upper legs, over the lower hogtie line, back between her thighs and up to the waist lasso, under which it was threaded.


As one of the bondage art students pulled on the rope, the hogtie line tightened, as did the pressure on Stephanie’s pussy.

“That’s enough,” said Jack, with a nasty edge in his voice “We wouldn’t want to cut off ALL her circulation.”

They rolled her back onto her stomach before thoroughly stuffing Stephanie’s mouth with a wad of cloth, a strapless ball gag, and several turns of Ace bandage, which, after the blindfold was removed, was also wound around her eyes and most of Stephanie’s shoulder length, blond hair. It took her a few seconds to realize the bra had been removed, but didn’t know exactly when.

Several turns of duct tape were then tightly applied to the Ace wrap, whereby only the bottom part of Danner’s nose could be seen. The sound of camera shutter clicks filled the room as she appreciated her bondage and struggled wildly in its over-the-top effectiveness. The photo session went on for a good five minutes, during which she thought back to a stipulation in the form she’d signed that said no pictures would be permitted unless her face was completely hidden or out of frame.

Five Minutes Into The Shoot

“It’s been nice binding you,” said Jack after he and his buddies had thoroughly enjoyed the sight of Stephanie’s bound and extremely bothered body. She listened to their leaving and the rear door of the room being closed. The front door opened. She heard that too, and murmuring and other sounds usually generated by large gatherings of people. I stepped into the soundproofed room, pressed a remote button and, thanks to an electric motored mechanism in its base, watched the pedestal roll to the door.

“Ladies and gentlemen…Your attention please… Welcome to this month’s Coming Out Party at The Studio,” heard Stephanie as she was driven through door number one and out into the workout room “It is my extreme pleasure to introduce you to the newest member of our circle. Please welcome, if you will, Damsel Toby Feet.”

I’d set the pedestal motor to its lowest speed to make sure Stephanie reached the center of the room as slowly as possible. Several, round top tables, all filled with guests, drinks, finger food and short, thick, ivory white candles surrounded what looked like a dance floor. But its 75-foot-in-diameter circle would not be used for that purpose this night. A spontaneous standing ovation ensued. Camera shutters could again be heard round about Stephanie’s somewhat limited audio awareness. Slowly-to-rapidly moving lights, with multi-color gels, filled the otherwise dimly lit room with a healthy dose of psychedelic atmospherics. The gag and wrapping around Danner’s head and ears did much to muffle the sound of it all.

‘This is… absolutely… preposterous,’ commented Stephanie’s state of shock awareness of the moment.

The crackling celebration of electronic flash activity and enthusiastic applause rose to a tumultuous peak as the first COD (Coming Out Damsel) of the evening rolled onto the floor and into the safe circle of Studio players who’d managed to hastily adjust their schedules in order to attend the impromptu occasion.

‘This is…OUTRAGEOUS,’ decided Stephanie as each second revealed more of the realities at hand.

Her pedestal arrived at the middle of the floor and stopped. As it did, an overhead spotlight placed the center of attraction into a circle of brilliant light. The applause and verbal appreciation super heated for several, monumental seconds

‘Oh- WOW!’ realized Stephanie Danner when the full impact of the event crashed into the shoreline of her outer cutting edges.

She hadn’t moved an inch since hearing the announcer, and purposely lowered her head as far as possible to drink in all the unprecedented physical, emotional and mental sensations the event inspired. The soaking wet pedestal material under Newman’s groin could be plainly seen. The decrescendo of applause and such ended in complete silence. A mike stand was then placed directly in front of Stephanie’s thoroughly bound and bothered body. It was adjusted to make sure every decibel of aural output would be amplified for all to appreciate and enjoy.

Several maddening seconds passed. Stephanie did her best to maintain absolute stillness, while experiencing the extreme nuances of her unprepared-for adventure into the uncommonly off-the-wall, high profile world of bondage and discipline. Minutes of on-again-off-again, psycho sensual bliss intertwined with the discomfort of the bind until both merged into a kind of love/hate relationship, the likes of which Stephanie had never experienced, let alone knew existed.

‘This is SOOOOOOO unbeLIEVably HOT!’  

Without her even realizing it, our newest participant slowly and pleasurably started to writhe in her ropes and do her best to take full advantage of the ones between her legs. It was then she discovered the diabolical way her body had been secured to the pedestal. One line ran from the front right corner of the padded slab, back to the rope juncture that ran from the front of her waist to the crotch ropes. It continued back to the tie off point, front left of the rolling table. Another line ran from the lower left corner, up over her left thigh, under the crotch ropes at the crack in her ass, and back to the right rear corner of the pedestal, by way of the right thigh.

Thus, any move she made, in any direction, would effect both the tension and action of the ropes that dug into her hose, panties and pussy. This unbeknownst wrinkle was quickly used to Stephanie’s advantage, giving her excellent reason to rock back and forth in the bowed position the brutal hogtie had imposed on her gorgeously fit to be tied body.

‘I can’t think anymore…all I can do is struggle and wait…I LOVE it! I absolutely LOVE this!’ 

As the intimacy and slowly increasing pain of the expertly applied bind overtook her overwhelmed awareness, she again began to speculate on what was going to happen next. The anticipation of that future, mixed in with remembrances of the specifications she’d written out and given to me in the middle of Sheep Meadow only served to tighten the vice-like grip her bondage oriented libido now had on Stephanie’s totally strung out self-awareness.

That’s when the bubble of her pre-orgasmic saturation point reached the outer limits of Stephanie’s sense of deprived autonomy. An unfathomable sensation, unlike any she’d ever enjoyed, completely enveloped her pussy and its surrounding territory with the kind of excitation only one tenth of the female population of planet Earth ever fully experience, let alone believe exists.


At that moment, Stephanie could not imagine being any more turned on than she was without having an orgasm. She was immediately proven wrong when the feel of fingernails started dancing on the soul of her left foot. Her response was immediate and violent with frenzied struggling and an autonomic “MMMUHUHUHUMMM!!!”

A second set of nails attacked the right foot with a meticulous medley of teasing scratches and pinches and such.


Thanks to the microphone on the stand in front of her head, and several huge speakers hanging from the corners and midpoints of the room, Stephanie’s muffled, but highly amplified orgasmic laughter and such exploded into the audio awareness of all in attendance like the roar of an exploding volcano. Other hands joined in the titillating tickling assault on her feet, underarms, torso and neck, to make sure Danner’s first Studio experience would spoil her forever and ensure her devotion to our uncommon dedication to the entertaining and pleasuring of damsels of her quality, persuasion and audaciousness.

Stephanie’s writhing was truly inspired. Aside from frantically expressing her ticklishness with head, fingers and toes, there was nothing else she could do to escape what the practiced hands of experts were so enthusiastically applying to her extremely hogtied protestations. Camcorders rolled, digital still cameras clicked, and eyes widened with glee as Stephanie’s greatly enhanced fantasy unfolded and unmercifully continued to do so until its torturous consequences surpassed the Richter scale redline of her known universe…

The final Wrinkle

As if this all wasn’t enough, another layer of predicament was applied when I signaled the ticklers to stop and Stephanie’s student binders stepped forward to further subdue her struggling bones. While her superheated thrashing about was firmly restricted in the grip of her binder’s arms and hands, she was forced to lean forward in order that clips could be affixed to her rock hard nipples. Each was attached to a tether that ran to the eye bolts to which the lines securing her to the table had been tied.

The unprecedented sensation caused Stephanie’s body to go limp with awe and trepidation as she quickly guessed the reason she’d been forced forward before the new wrinkle was applied.


The students worked quickly before slowly relaxing their grips on my new model’s severely bowed helplessness. As they did, Stephanie’s worst fears were realized when the nipple tether tension inflicted its insisting discipline into the mix of her outrageously overwhelmed, sensual threshold.

‘OMG!’ was all she could think when it became blatantly obvious her struggling would be limited to less than a quarter of an inch of leeway in any direction other than forward. And if she did move forward, the lines that held her to the rear of the pedestal would force the crotch ropes to sustain their tightening grip on her crevice even more than they had thus far. But the boys weren’t finished with our model just yet though. There was still one more detail to infuse into the preposterous dynamics of the bind.

Stephanie was immediately surprised when the rear pedestal line slackened at the untying of the knots that secured it to its eye bolts. But her relief was short-lived, for the reasoning behind the move was quickly discerned when one of the students grabbed her hair and pulled the front of her body back as far as the nipple tethers would allow. The slack in the rear table line was then completely pulled out, and then some, so as to ensure there would be no movement whatsoever, in any direction, from then on.


Stephanie’s surprised audio protestations reverberated throughout the room as the students tied things off and stepped back to admire their work.

“Let’s here it for our riggers, ladies and gentlemen,” officiated the master of ceremonies. “They have truly outdone themselves.”

A wildly appreciating chorus of cheers, applause and such rose from the gathering as Stephanie did all she could to challenge the new knots and clips in her life and wonder how much longer she would have to endure the diabolical intricacies of her first, major bind.

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When the fan appreciation subsided, an ominous silence ensued for a good two minutes as Danner wriggled a squirmed as best she could, making it perfectly clear there was nothing she could do but hang out on the edge of her next multiple and listen to the click of camera shutters. When the last digital took the last picture, the ticklers got back onto Stephanie’s case, right where they left off. There was no easing into it this time. The full blown impact of their practiced attentions became instantly focused on every inch of their subject’s half dozen or so sensitivity zones.

I watched with glee as my latest damsel’s head and overtaxed sexuality rose to new heights of orgasmic intoxication. And regardless of the consequences, she continued to rock and roll in her bondage, in spite of the demands placed on her nipples and pussy by the last detail imposed upon Stephanie’s gorgeously overindulged physique.         


Muscles stiffened, limps stood frozen in a tableau of undeniable anticipation, and all sorts of finger and toe action made it perfectly clear that Stephanie Danner had good reason to scream, howl and breathe deeply into the details of the overly accessorized, co-authored version of her first Studio experience.

And when she went silent, raised her nose to the elevated limits its enforced limitations would allow, and let go to the longest, most indescribable multiple of her 26-year-old history with sensual rope bondage, all stood frozen with her in deep, empathetic silence.  The tickling, too, rose to the occasion by sustaining an apex of intensity it had not ministered thus far, turning Stephanie’s fantasy-come-true into a milestone of unforgettable satisfaction for all concerned…

While deep within the hidden confines of Danner’s electrified reasoning a small, warning voice said, ‘You belong to us now.’   


When I was sure Stephanie had gotten more than enough of what she’d come to the studio to get, I moved onto the next phase of her adventure.

Since she was way too busy with her ‘victimization,’ she barely noticed the pad I was pressing against the middle of her face. Its odd aroma was foreign to her memory, and I had my hands full with keeping her head still while applying the next surprise into the pleasuring equation of Stephanie’s coming out party.

My timing could not have been more perfect, for just as the last of her current multiple faded into oblivion, the chloroform slowly slid her into merciful unconsciousness.


(It is suggested the reader take a break before moving on to the next phase of Stephanie Danner’s coming out party.)


Twenty-One-Minutes later

Except for her panties, Stephanie was naked and stretched out on her back and on the four-poster, brass bed in room number two. Her wrists were parallel bound above her head, tethered by a half-inch-thick, seamed, nylon rope that ran in back of the center brass bed bar, around and back under her body, then up between her legs to a belt around her waist, where it was tied off.  As she came to, an odd sensation in her mouth caught hold of Stephanie’s first conscious awareness of the situation.


I stood over her with blow-up bulb in hand. The second she saw me, another fantasy specification came to mind, one that required she be gagged with the device she now realized had been inserted into her mouth and strapped securely to her jaw and head. Only her nose, eyes and forehead could be seen through the combination, black-leather cap/gag harness.

I started pumping as Stephanie noticed that her ankles were also parallel bound and tethered to the center bar in the brass frame at the foot of the bed. However, her feet were also encased in a silver box in such a way as to make the heels touch its bottom. A 20-foot long power cord connection had obviously been plugged into a socket somewhere in the room.

A nipple tether chain, with adjustable clasps, also caught her eye as she fully awakened and noticed the thin line that ran from its center, up to a tiny pulley above, and down to a large wire hook at its end. The sensation of having her mouth fully distended by a bubble of hard pressed air was the first titillation to drive her back to the erotic realms of Stephanie’s sexual awareness.

As her cheeks expanded against the leather cap casing, she thought, ‘Holy…So this is what it feels like.’

What she didn’t notice were hidden mini-microphones taped to the head frame of the bed.

I dropped the blow-up bulb onto the mattress and reached for one of five, three-ounce fishing sinkers I’d placed in and around Stephanie’s bellybutton, one of which I slid onto the nipple tether, pulley line hook. Its effect tightened the slack and gave my fantasy damsel something to think about before another led weight was applied.

“You were magnificent out there in the middle of the workout room.” I praised. “Everyone wants to know who you are, Toby Feet.”

I chuckled.

The next particular of which Stephanie became aware was that her big toes had been cinched together and tethered to the top of the box, which sat on the rope that secured her bound ankles to the center bar at the foot of the bed. This made it impossible for her to move her feet anywhere inside the box.

I said nothing more before flipping a switch on the side of the silver container, pressing a button on the TV remote, and very quietly leaving the room and Stephanie to watch a video of her binding session with the art students and subsequent party initiation. The huge, high definition screen hung on the wall directly in front of the bed. She stared up at it and struggled for crotch rope friction while wondering why her feet were in a three-foot-square, aluminum box and what was going to happen next.

There were hidden microphones everywhere in the room to pick up on any sounds she or anyone else made while there. The TV volume was set high also. The room door swung open and was immediately shut.

“Hi,” greeted Cindy Coyle.

Suddenly, a wireless gizmo in the silver box responded to the sound of the door slam and Cindy’s voice, thus triggering a mechanism designed to thoroughly tickle Stephanie’s feet.


“That’s right, Toby,” smiled my personal assistant. “It’s something our toymakers dreamed up for damsels of your inclination.”

With that, she lifted another sinker off of Stephanie’s gut and placed it on the nipple tether line hook.

“Seey’a’round.” Grinned Cindy as she left the room through its front door.

“MMUHUHUH! (Muffled laughter and squeals)”

The tickler stopped about 10 seconds after the door slammed, tipping Stephanie off to the time gap between a sound made and the tickling stopping.

‘These guys are way more fun than Donna said.’

‘Ms. Feet’ continued to struggle an increasingly loaded orgasm out of its box for the next minute or so, realizing that any violent gyration would surely cause the sinkers to dance around a bit in their gravitational pull.

Nipple-wise, their effect was nothing short of spectacular whenever her struggling slipped into maniacal territory. Meanwhile, Danner’s orgasmic threshold felt like it was just a few heartbeats away.

‘I’m in heaven.’

She was a good 80% there when the door swung open and a rather stout gentleman of about 40, in tuxedo and ruffled shirt with bowtie, stepped into the room, walked to the bed, expressionless, and placed the third sinker on Stephanie’s hook. He then sang, in a very round and robust exhibition of operatic style and prolongation, a note from somewhere atop the outer reaches of his vocal range.

 “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” and so forth for about half a minute.

This, of course, revealed to Stephanie that the louder the volume in the room, the faster and more complex the tickling became. She thrashed and tugged at her ropes. But there was no escaping the tickle box and whatever I’d planned for the rest of this particular party episode. The sinkers bounced, the crotch rope dug into and sawed at Stephanie’s panties and pussy, while all kinds of incredible box action drove her further and further into an over-the-top version of the no-choice fantasy she’d so longed to experience.

The unexpected intensity and imaginative details, however, did much to convince her she was way out of her depth in this newfound world of safe but calculated damsel ‘pleasuring.’ The big man left the room but did not close the door. Stephanie could see the party and notice that it was still in full swing. Another damsel was ball bound on the pedestal, in the spotlight now.


A woman of about 35 appeared through the door, closing it behind her as she stepped toward the bed in a very tight-fitting, red spandex body suit that went from the top of her neck to the tips of her booted toes, with arms exposed to the shoulders.

“Hi, I’m Molly, Donna’s second best friend,” said the well built, stiletto- heeled brunette as she dumped the contents of a leather bag onto the bed. “I was told to do a solo fix that John taught me for you.”

The sound activated tickle box downshifted to a lower setting, then ceased ten seconds after Molly stopped talking. She then sat on the lower right edge of the bed, her back to its 3-inch-in-diameter, brass pole, crossed her ankles and lashed them tightly together with two turns of an inch-and-a-half wide black leather belt.

Stephanie watched in amazement as the top-heavy damsel bound her upper and lower knees with two more, and then knotted a five-foot line to the ankle straps before tying it off on the post without pulling out any slack.

Another, longer, wider belt lashed Molly to the pole at the waist. The end of a thick rope was then tied to the front of the waist belt, guided between her legs, under her vitals and back around the third bar on the bed frame, where it was secured, with no slack lost. The ankle tether was then undone from the pole and led up, under and over the crotch rope configuration. Molly pulled on it and lifted her lower legs off the floor until they could come up no further. She then tied the line off on the pole again. Of course, the crotch rope tightened considerably, thanks to the weight her legs now placed on it.

The clicking of cameras on the video awakened the tickle box, inspiring another round of well muffled laughter and pre-orgasmic distress.

Molly hung a huge, black ball gag from her neck before a two-inch-wide belt was buckled around the pole above her head. One end of a pair of handcuffs was then very tightly locked onto her right wrist. Little by little, Molly slipped into the pole belt, head first, working her shoulder and upper arms into it until it was down around her upper chest. It dug into the red spandex material, which did much to nicely accentuate and further pressurize the tops of her breasts

Molly started working her upper arms and shoulder back around the pole until her elbows were just a few inches apart. As a result, the chest belt tightened to accommodate the added arm thicknesses it now very snugly contained. Stephanie was in awe of Molly’s ability to incapacitate herself as she watched the other cuff lock around her left wrist. Its connecting chain was only two-inches long. The mild tickling discontinued when the students in the video stopped taking pictures.

‘Wonder why she didn’t gag herself,’ wondered Stephanie.

Her question was soon answered when I opened and walked through the door, slamming it behind me, thus activating the tickler again. I just stood there, appreciating the scene. It was then that the announcer in the video began to introduce Stephanie to the gathering. A jolt of nervous anticipation raced down her spine for she knew there would be a lot of fan approval to deal with for the next few minutes.

The tickle box responded vigorously as I said, “Molly, tell Toby how it is you both got yourselves into this situation?”

“I was the one who told Donna bout The Studio,” confessed Molly.

I immediately used the huge black ball hanging from Molly’s neck to thoroughly and uncomfortably gag the security leak as tightly as I could. She immediately started working the crotch rope while scoping the video and being peripherally aware of whatever else was happening in the room. Stephanie watched as I moved to the foot of the bed and undid her ankle tether from its frame bar, only to pull on it until her body was fully extended by the losing of the last four inches of slack in the line. As a consequence, the rope pressure on Stephanie’s crotch maxed out.

I then pumped up the balloon gag one more notch before detaching its bulb connecting tube and saying, “There, that’s got it.”

Just then, Donna walked through the door and said to Molly, “Good girl, just like I told you. But I think we should tighten everything up a bit more, say one or two belt notches?”

As she did just that, I winked at Stephanie and left the room to its hot-n-bothered occupants.

“Ever since we’ve been roommates,” remembered Donna, “I have wanted to share my bondage life with you.”

‘Wow,’ thought Stephanie.

“Now I don’t have to hide all my stuff from you, let alone worry about your discovering what I do online.”

Stephanie struggled and laughed continuously throughout her friend’s revelation.

“Making you aware of The Studio’s existance was just a shot in the dark. I had no idea you were into being tied and tickled. Now that I do, we’ll have a lot more fun back at the apartment.”

Stephanie looked down at Molly as Donna finished tightening the last belt buckle and said, “That should keep your conscience occupied for a while.”

The applause in the video sent the tickle box into overdrive and Stephanie into a writhing frenzy of muffled, screaming laughter. She quickly realized that her upcoming response to the tickling her newfound friends had enthusiastically ministered to her severely hogtied bones under the spotlight would soon impact the tickler box’s sound activator.

‘This is… un-FREAKING REAL!’

Donna walked to and knocked three times on the door. It opened to a line of people waiting to enter. Slowly, each walked across the room, and in front of the bed, and left by the rear entrance while singing, “For she’s a jolly good fellow, for she’s a jolly good fellow, etc.” as loudly as they could.

The decibel levels rose, the tickle box kicked into high gear, and Donna added another sinker to the nipple tether hook. Pictures were taken and, except for Stephanie, who was having the BEST time, a good time was had by all for the remainder of the evening.

‘He didn’t use an arm glove,’ thought Stephanie just before our gear gal entered the room, hung a fire engine red one over the bed’s head frame, put the last sinker on the nipple tether hook, and sang a high ‘C’ for the next several seconds.

‘OMG!!!’ thought Stephanie Danner as she slipped into multiple land again and wondered how much more torturous tickling and humiliation she could endure before her coming out party ended. A glance up at the red leather arm glove hanging from the bed frame suggested there would be no end to her ‘ordeal’ until all the elements in her specificity list had been factored into the evening’s festivities.


As the line moved along, several Studio regulars took advantage of Stephanie’s tightly stretched vulnerability by tickling her in various parts of her wildly writhing anatomy.


Meanwhile, Molly was completely ignored, which bothered her no end, since she, too, also loved being bound and tickled and fussed over. But because she had disobeyed a cardinal security rule, there would be none of that for her this night, or any other night at the Studio until the severity of her offense had been abundantly matched by an equal measure of very tightly applied, frustratingly endured bondage and discipline.



continues in Chapter Three


John Roper

With Drawing By Synthean





story continues in