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Vanishing Act 2

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

(story continues from Vanishing Act 1)

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Vanishing Act
Chapter Two
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I was born in Guildford, in Surrey, England.  I grew up there and went to the University of Essex.  So much for my youth in a nutshell.  I have no bothers or sisters, and, as of two years ago, I have no parents.  They were both killed in a horrific pileup on the M4.  That was without a doubt the most terrible time of my life – or until this nightmare began.  All I wanted to do was get away from England, leave all the memories behind me and make a fresh start. 

At that point my relationship with my boyfriend Peter was on the rocks and it did not take a major decision to sell up and leave.  I put the family home in the hands of our solicitor and eventually left Mother England.  I had made enquiries about Australia and had established that I complied with the ‘wanted occupation’ criteria.  Armed with a work permit I finally made it to Sydney after a long detour through India, China and South East Asia.  A lot of things happened to me on the way, of course, but they are not relevant here.  Suffice to say I arrived in Sydney somewhat more together than I had started, and eager to settle down to some sort of normal routine.

I had a series of positions as a relieving nurse manager in both private practice and in a couple of hospitals.  I rented a small terraced house by myself in Balmain, and got used to the modern world again by immersing myself in my work.
I was not yet ready for a new relationship.  I guess my colleagues thought of me as a stand-offish Pom, but it didn’t bother me.  The scars of the break-up with Peter and the death of my parents were still too close to the surface.  Sure there was the odd date, but the enthusiasm and chemistry wasn’t there and nothing developed.

A legacy from my 2-year relationship with Peter, however, was the direction my sexuality had taken.  It had been Peter who had introduced me to the world of bondage as a submissive, and it was under this spell that I had fallen.  It wasn’t that I missed Peter as a person – for he could be such a jerk – it was what I experienced at his hands that stayed in my memory.
I bought a computer and inevitably through the email usage and occasional net surfing I found myself at Alt.com.  I had never really taken to the net – I always thought it to be a guy thing which didn’t excite me.  While Peter could spend hours surfing, I failed to see the attraction.  Only after he slowly inducted me into the mysteries of a bondage relationship did I deign to take an interest in the downloads he was obtaining.  That was when he first showed me Alt.com.  And of course it was shortly after that that my world fell apart.

I have to admit I did daydream about it through Asia.  There is nothing like an uncomfortable bus ride to get the mind wandering into other worlds.  I had experienced some relatively mild bondage at Peter’s hands and it excited me, but I had been left in a tantalising limbo after our blazing row that ended it all.  It was like some Promised Land had been shown to me, and then the bridge leading there had collapsed.  Then, with my parents’ deaths the whole vision had evaporated.
But later, in my quiet little room in Short Street, Balmain, with its distant vista of the Harbour Bridge, the old memories had surfaced.  I had scanned eagerly through the Alt.com profiles and felt the old excitement of the forbidden or unknown fruit.  I looked at the weird and bizarre options provided for people to list as their interests.  Some of them I barely understood.  I was like a moth to a flame, dancing close, mesmerised but scared of where it would lead.  One heard so many things about disastrous meetings via the net.

Needless to say I finally plucked up enough courage to put my own profile up.
“GentleJan” I called myself.  It didn’t seem so off the mark.  Then came all the categories to fill in.  I have to say I agonised over some of these.  I thought of Peter and the hours I had lain tied to his bed, blindfolded, while he drove me crazy with probing fingers and devices I could not see but could certainly feel.  Here, however, was a whole new world – ideas I had not even considered and which at once both scared and excited me.  There were all these people out there who were into this stuff.  Filling in the form took some time…

“Looking For:” The first part on the drop-down menu was easy – a man.  For what?  No, I couldn’t suggest he call round to tie me up.  It was something that would have to happen very slowly over the course of time. “Erotic email exchange” would do for a starter.  I would see where that led.

“Activities enjoyed”: This was starting to get hard. “Bondage, domination, dildoes, leather, latex, chains, toys, vibrators”.  As I scanned through the categories I felt myself blush.  Was I really baring my soul in this way to the world outside? Plenty of others were doing it too, I thought, justifying the whole thing to myself.  It was like being naked in a nudist camp – sort of.  Except that it was all new and strange to me.  Yet I couldn’t stifle the urge to go down this road, so much did it excite me.  I decided to limit my “activities” at this stage, given the vast and bewildering choice offered.

“I think about the alternative lifestyle…” Once a day, I decided.  Sometimes it was more.  After today I knew it was going to be more.
“Role”: Submissive.  No difficulty there.
“Sexual Orientation”: Straight
“Dress”: Casual.  No, I didn’t fit the punk or gothic or gay image.  That was easy, too.
“Demeanour”:  Passive.
“Social Orientation”:  Where did I lie? Liberal?  Moderate?  I didn’t even care about politics.  ‘Prefer not to say.’
“Practise Safe Sex”: Yes

That was the hard stuff over. 
“Gender”: Female.
“Born on”: 17 January 1966
“Height”: 5’10”  (Good old Americans – still living in the sixties with imperial measurements…)
“Body Type”: Slim
“Hair Colour”: Brown
“Hair Length”: Medium
“Pubic Hair”: Trimmed.  (Wow, this really was getting down to the nitty gritty.)
“Eye Colour”: Green.
“Glasses/Contacts”: None
“Body Decorations”: Earrings
“Bra Size”: (Oh, really!)  36C
“Profession”: Medical.
“Religion”: None.
“Education”: Undergraduate Degree
“Smoking/Drinking”: Non-smoker/light social drinker
“Lives In”: Sydney
“Speaks”: English
So there it was.  Jan Sherwood’s personality and desires reduced to a few short one-liners.  Well, that really wasn’t so hard, I thought. 

The really hard part was the few lines about me and what I was looking for.  I was looking for a relationship, but not something that I just leapt into.  I had heard too many bad stories about the weirdos out there in cyberland. 
I wrote: “If you’re between 25 and 40, it’s a good start.  If you don’t smoke, understand what a woman wants and don’t have an ego problem, you may be still in with a chance.  You need a modicum of intelligence and a sense of humour, and you need to be experienced in B & D.”  (This makes me sound like a pro, doesn’t it, I thought.)  “I’m looking for honesty, consideration and respect before anything goes further.  You will have to demonstrate all these things before you have a chance of meeting me for any relationship. If you still think you fit the bill, you may email me.”

This didn’t sound at all like me.  It had strong overtones of confidence and certainty that I didn’t feel, but better that way than begging to be taken advantage of.
Now the act of pushing the ‘send’ button awaited me, like some kind of irrevocable turning point in life – an act that could not be undone. To click on ‘send’ was so easy… There.  The die was cast now.  Nothing to do but sit back and wait.

*   *   *

It didn’t take more than a couple of days before I realised the Pandora’s box that I’d opened.  Thank goodness I hadn’t put a photo on the profile as well.  Marrieds, singles, young, old – anything male with a pulse had responded, it seemed.  Half of them I could see were incapable of reading what I’d written, much less understanding it.  Everybody seemed to think it was a free-for-all and that they all had a chance.  There followed in the ensuing weeks various exchanges, not all of them pleasant.  I am not an aggressive person, and took the coward’s way out by not replying to as many of the non-conforming ones as I could.  There were of course the persistent ones, who couldn’t take a hint, and these guys had to have it spelt out for them.  Eventually I took my profile down, before I ended up spending half my day trying to satisfy raging male hormones through out the eastern seaboard.

I wound up continuing with three Doms – two in Sydney and one in Brisbane.  I don’t know why I picked the latter.  It wasn’t as if I had any intention of moving out of Sydney, and thus any sort of face to face relationship wasn’t really going to happen, but the guy sounded nice.  He wrote well, had a good sense of humour and seemed to know what he was talking about.  His name was Ash, and I found myself opening up to him more, particularly in the light of what was happening on the Sydney front.  Of the two Sydney Doms, after a period of correspondence, I finally arranged to meet Antonio. 

Antonio was your typical hunk.  I might almost have called him handsome, if I went for guys like that.  He was about my age, tall – maybe four inches taller than me – and bulky with it.  Wide shoulders and a solid body – the sort of body that looks as though it has seen the inside of a steroid bottle.  Black hair and brown eyes that betrayed his Italian ancestry, even if his name hadn’t already.  He gave the impression of power and strength, not least through his big hands which wrapped around mine as if they belonged to a doll.  Antonio smiled easily and we talked for a long time over coffee at a Darling Harbour café, but I could not help distil the feeling that there was something not quite right about him – that there was something he was not telling me.

Graham, on the other hand, was quite different. Probably pushing fifty, he was quiet with an air of amused calm about him.  He had a moustache, greying like his hair, but his eyes were kind and warm.  He gave the impression that there was little in the world that could faze him, that he was prepared to bestow his affection on me by gentle subjugation, and that he would respect my limits.

Predictably enough Antonio got the elbow, and I continued to correspond with Graham on an almost daily basis, along with Ash in Brisbane.  Ash I found was someone I could open up to about my assessment of Graham without worrying about competing interests, because I had already made it clear to Ash that this was to be a long distance relationship only.  He was happy with that, and gradually I came to see him as, well, not exactly a mentor, but one with whom I could share the goings on in my life (such as they were) and get some unbiased feedback.

I was still playing it slowly, and Graham appeared to be in no rush to get me hanging from the rafters or bound to the bed, and I liked that. But inevitably I knew I had to take the plunge.  Graham pushed me gently, and finally it was decision time.  We had talked of all manner of things, not least scenarios I would like to explore, and so the time came to decide to go with Graham.

I had discussed the matter by email with Ash, who advised me to go to Graham’s place.  This seemed to make sense in one way, in that I had no ‘equipment’ at my house, nor – despite Graham’s apparently amiable exterior, did I want him to know where I lived at that time.  I was not prepared to do that until considerably more water had gone under the proverbial bridge. Ash obviously sensed my wariness and gave me his mobile phone number. I promised to call him every hour after a certain time.  He was my ‘safe’, my backup in case things went wrong.

I prepared myself for my foray into this strange world.  What did one wear on a bondage date?  I had no idea.  I chose a fawn-coloured dress that showed off my figure but flowed loosely around my bare knees.  A pair of strappy sandals completed the outfit.  What should I do to my hair?  What would be done with my hair?  At length I pulled it to each side and pinned it with clips.  I eyed myself in the mirror, smoothing the dress over my still firm stomach.  Yes, Jan, not bad, I thought.  Not bad for thirty-four.  You’ll do.

I had never actually spoken to Ash before, but I wanted to make contact before I arrived at Graham’s place over the bridge in Cremorne. I phoned Ash as I drove down Victoria Road towards the city.
“Hello?”  The voice was mellow.
“Is that Ash?”
“Yes.”
“Ash, this is Jan.  Hi.” 
“Jan!” There seemed to be new warmth in the voice. “This is a pleasure.  How are you?  Where are you?”
“In the car, on my way to see Graham.”
“Ah.”
“I want you to be my insurance.  Is that okay?”
“Sure.  First, tell me what’s the address that you’re going to?”
“It’s 16 Brierley Street, Cremorne.”
“Is that his house?”
“I assume so.”
“And you’re due when?”
“In about forty minutes.”

“All right.  Now here’s what to do. “ I liked the sound of Ash.  He seemed to be like his email – practical, warm, no-nonsense.  Taking command, I guess. “You must ring me every hour on the hour until you leave.  A few minutes either side is okay, since it may not be convenient at the time.  If you don’t ring, I’ll ring you at ten minutes past the hour.  I assume you’re taking your mobile?”
“Yes.”
“Then give me the number.”  I did so. “Good.  Now when you ring you can tell me everything’s fine – assuming it is.  If it’s not, and you’re scared and feel you’re in trouble, tell me ‘pleasant dreams’ before you hang up. That’s your emergency code.  If you say that, I’ll call the cops.  Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
“Listen Jan, what we’re talking about here is part of the deal when a new sub does her first session – and sometimes for subsequent ones too.  It’s not a sign of distrust, just a safety precaution.  If your Dom is as experienced as he appears to be, he will take it in his stride. He won’t be offended.  It’s all part of the game.”  A pause, then:

“You must be nervous.”  It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes.” My throat seemed to have gone dry.
“Sure you want to go through with this?”
“No, but yes – if that makes sense. It probably doesn’t.  It’s a new start I have to make.” I tried to laugh it off. “Any final advice for the condemned?”
The response was calm but serious. “Jan, I haven’t met you face to face, but I have a fair idea of who you are from your emails.  This is a great thing you’re doing – I recognise the courage it takes.  But it’s something to be taken seriously.  This guy could be inept – or worse.  Either way you could get hurt. You’ve met him, so I assume he passes first muster.  I don’t want to put you off something I hope you’re going to enjoy – just remember that.  That’s ultimately the purpose of it all. 

“Now, have you talked about limits?” he asked.
“You mean…?”
“What you like to do, what you can take, what he likes to do.”
“Sort of.”
“And you’re comfortable with that?”
“I… maybe not.”
“Why?  Because he hasn’t really spelt out what he wants yet?  Am I right?  He’s given you a spiel about training and stuff.  Look Jan, you may be a sub, but before you put that mindset into place you have to know what you’re going to be asked to do.  If he tells you to jump out the window, you’re not going to do it, are you?”
“Of course not.”

“Good.  A slave might, but not a subbie.  Just remember the game stops when you leave his house, which you will be doing.  Don’t let him get too much inside your mind.  Stay focussed on what’s happening and you may get to Sub space.”
“Sub space?” 
“That’s where subbies go when they’re being pushed to their limits.”  I could almost hear the smile in his voice as he said that. “It’s a subbie thing – don’t ask me to explain it.  It’s a kind of subbie Nirvana, I think – a higher astral plain.  You’ll have to tell me if you get there.
“And don’t forget your safeword for your Dom.  I assume you have one?”
“Yes – I hum ‘Happy Birthday’.”  There was a laugh from the other end. 
“I like that.  No doubt you can do that even with something stuffed in your mouth.”
“Uh-huh.”  I didn’t tell him I had bought a rubber ball at the local pet shop and threaded it on a dog collar from the same place.  Yes, even with that wedged behind my teeth I could get out a recognisable version of ‘Happy Birthday’.”  That was the same day I had been to the hardware store and bought some rope and plastic cable ties.  Armed with these I had slipped my wrists through multiple loops of rope and used a plastic tie to cinch the ropes.  The only way I could undo myself was to cut the rope or tie, and after a few panicky moments I had done it relatively easily.

That was the start of a weekend where I stayed that way, bound hand and foot and gagged with tape, until the ice holding the pair of scissors secured to a high cupboard handle had finally melted.  It had taken a long time, but the thoughts I had had in that time left me hot, wet and frustrated.  It was an eye-opener for me and convinced me that I was doing the right thing.
Now I was going to let someone else do it to me.
“Uh, Ash, look, I’m almost there.  Thanks for your help – I really mean it.  We’ll talk in an hour –yes?”
“”Sure.  Take care of yourself.”  Then the phone clicked and he was gone.

*   *   *

The house was a brick and plaster two-storey affair with an attached garage on the right hand side.  It had probably been built in the fifties, and as such was nothing startling architecturally.  But it looked neat and presentable with a well-kept garden, and given the desirability of the area, I knew Graham was definitely not hard up.  That was confirmed by the Audi parked under the carport outside the garage.

Graham was his charming self and I hoped my nervousness was not betraying me.  My hands seemed to be shaking, although when I held them out to examine them as he prepared a drink, they gave no outward sign of the tremors I felt inside.
The interior of the house was cool and comfortable, with dark panelling and ornate plaster cornices.  We sat in the living room for a short while, chatting.  Graham was obviously doing his best to put me at ease, and the vodka and orange certainly helped as well.  I could have gone a second one, but he didn’t offer one, probably detecting (rightly) that I would start to go silly with too much alcohol.
“Are you ready to go?” he finally asked.

“Yes,” I said, swallowing.  This was it.  I picked up my handbag and followed him through the kitchen to a side door, which I guessed led to the garage.  So this was where it all happened.  He turned on the light and I let my eyes rove over the various pulleys and frames that occupied the double car space.  I felt the butterflies go mad in my stomach, but it was as much excitement as nervousness.
“Now you can see what’s in the arsenal,” Graham said with a wry smile.  He was wearing jeans and a white tee shirt with some Chinese characters on it, which made him look considerably younger than the last time I had seen him, when he had been dressed in a thoroughly respectable business suit.  “Is there anything here you don’t think you can handle?”

I looked about at the whips, floggers and paddles hanging in their appointed places on the wall.  There were several gags in different harness configurations and a considerable assortment of ropes and chains and cuffs.
“I – I don’t want to be whipped,” I eventually blurted.
“That’s fine,” he said encouragingly.  “We may change your mind in due course, but there’s no hurry.  I’ll make sure you’re comfortable with each stage.  You remember your safeword?”
“I’ll hum ‘Happy Birthday’.” 
“And you don’t even need to know the words,” he murmured, half to himself. “All right, take off your dress.”
“What?”
“I’m hardly going to do much to you in that state, Miss.” His tone was abruptly firm, his eyes sterner. “Now do as you’re told.” 

Something in his voice cut right through me and I lowered my eyes to avoid meeting his, at once occupying myself with the buttons down the front of my dress.  I was suddenly too far gone to retreat now.  Somewhere in the last minute my brain had made a decision that was irrevocable, and I knew I had to do what he said.  The dress dropped to the floor.  I stood there in my bra and pants while he moved behind me.  I started to turn round.
“No.  Stay as you are.  You will now do only as I say, when I say it.  Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Yes sir!”
“Yes – sir.”  I hear the falter in my voice.  Could I really go through with this?

“Tell me Jan,” he said in a serious tone, “when I show you this, what do you think of it?”  He held up a collar in front of me.  It was maybe 4 centimetres wide, made of heavy black patent leather.  “What does it mean to you?”  My mind was momentarily blank.  “Just say the first thing that comes into your head.  Like those word association tests.  Now… collar.”
“Slave”.
“Good.  Anything else?”
“Uh…belonging…security…I don’t know sir…”
“Very good Jan.  I am impressed.  Would you like to try it on?”
“Yes sir.”

The strong fingers looped the leather about my throat and I caught my breath as the loose end slipped through the buckle and closed snugly about my neck.  It felt nice, somehow… Kind of comforting.  I could not believe I was thinking like this.  I felt my loins become moist as I stood there while he waited behind me, out of view. 
“The collar is a very symbolic accessory, Jan.  It is representative of your being totally under my control, to do as I command without hesitation.” He paused, as if to let the words sink in.  “But it is also symbolic of a trusting relationship.  Do you trust me, Jan?”
“Yes sir,” I said without a thought. 

I felt the movement of air as he came up and stood directly behind me.  The room was still enough that I could hear my breathing and the rustle of his clothes.  Then a soft leather blindfold descended and my world became dark as he buckled it behind my head. I sensed a feeling of power, as if at that moment I had yielded to something that it was now beyond my power to resist.

I stood there, aware of his movement as he slowly walked around me.  I knew he was studying me, assessing me, appraising both my mental and physical abilities and capacities.  No doubt he had done it with dozens of women who had come to this garage before me.  Those dozens had no doubt been bound, chained, gagged, whipped and tormented to whatever extremes they could endure, be they the heights of pain, sexual frustration or sexual pleasure.  Before I lost my sight I had noted that where the garage roller door should be there was just a blank wall.  Clearly the garage had been converted for this reason alone – soundproofing was evidently a must.

He was in front of me now.  I could almost feel his breath on my face.  His hands rested on my shoulders then gripped me momentarily by the biceps, before running gently down my arms.  My skin tingled at his touch and I could feel my nipples growing hard.  Damn.  Why did our bodies always give us away like that?  Then his fingers were undoing the front clasp of my bra.  It fell away from my body, and my perfidious nipples betrayed me entirely.  His fingers touched them lightly then gripped them and twisted them until I gritted my teeth.

“Very good, my dear,” he murmured.  “Very nice, too, I might add.  How do you think they would look with a couple of clamps on them?”  I said nothing.  The thought scared me, but excited me, too.  I wanted it, but didn’t want it. “I asked you a question, my dear.  I expect an answer.”  The voice was hard and crisp. “Well?”
“I – I don’t know sir.”
“I think we may just find out tonight… Would you like that?”
“Uh… yes,” I blurted without thinking.
“What?”  There was a sharp smack of his hand on my rump.
“Yes sir.”
“Good.  Now hold out your hands.”

So this was it.  I was getting tied.  I felt the soft cotton sashcord wind maybe ten times about my wrists, drawing them firmly but not over-tightly together.  Then there were a couple of cinches around the whole lot that left them rigidly linked.  I was propelled gently a few steps forward where moments later I heard the sound of what must have been a hand winch obviously winding a cable that was going to haul my arms above me. 

Sure enough, my arms rose up and I found myself centring myself under the suspending rope.  The clicking of the winch stopped just as I felt myself start to stretch to the point where my heels began to lift off the ground.  Then came the soft sound of Graham’s sneakers as he walked across to me.  My heart was pounding and my breathing was fast and shallow.
Then his hands were on me again, caressing my body and doing nothing to slow my heart rate.
“You have a very nice figure, Jan,” he told me.  “Do you work out?”
“Yes sir.”
“Of course you do,” he said, as though I hadn’t answered.  His hand brushed across my stomach and slid down inside my knickers.  Jesus.  I suddenly realised it was not just my nipples that were betraying me.  “I think these must go.  Don’t you agree, Jan?”
“Uh… yes sir.”  Did I really?  Yes, I think I did.  I knew where it was leading, and suddenly I wanted it to go down that path.

Then I was naked save my sandals, which I lost moments later.  The loss of my two-inch heels made the rope holding my arms tighter and I found myself standing on the balls of my feet with my heels off the ground.  Then it was more of the hands – just a gentle touch, roving here and there with the lightness of a feather which made me squirm. 
There was a pause, then the suspension rope unwound a fraction and my arms lowered slightly. 
“I think we need full access to everything, my dear.  Are you in agreement?”
I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I said “yes sir” in spite of myself.

His intentions were clear moments later when a leather cuff was buckled snugly about my left ankle.  It was attached to a spreader bar which forced my feet apart before the opposite cuff was secured to my right ankle.  Then it was tension on the suspension rope and poor Jan was being stretched on her tiptoes again – and I mean reeeelly stretched.  My breathing was ragged now – I realised I was breathing through my mouth.  It was a combination of my total helplessness, the tautness of the position, and those hands again.  This time his fingers were into my crotch, twining amongst my pubic hair and delving into my private place. 

It had been a long time since anybody’s fingers but my own had ventured into that territory, and I had forgotten what it was like.  Of course everything was heightened by the lead-up to my current predicament, and I gasped uncontrollably as he provoked a particularly sensitive spot.
“Ohhh – shit!” I moaned softly, half to myself, and somewhat louder than I meant to.
“What?”
“Nothing – sir,” I whispered.
“You said ‘shit’, girl.  What kind of talk is that?”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“So you will be, my dear.  I’ll not have that sort of language in my presence. You realise what this means?”
“No, sir.”
“Oh come, girl, are you dense as well as rude?  You commit a crime and what happens?”
“You get punished?”  I ventured unhappily.
“Correct.  You must learn to conduct yourself with the appropriate decorum as befits a young lady.  We must think of something appropriate.” My heart sank.  He was going to get those clamps, I was sure of it.  I just wished he would go back to what he was doing.  That’s when the ringing started.  What was it?  Then I realised it was my mobile phone in my handbag, somewhere nearby on the floor.
The ringing stopped.

“Hello? Yes, she’s here.  One moment.”  The phone was pressed against my ear.  With an effort I focussed on reality.
“Hello?”
“Jan?  It’s Ash.  You didn’t call.  You okay?”
“Yes, sure.  Sorry.  Just a bit tied up at the moment.”
“Very funny.  And not original, I hate to tell you.  All right, I won’t bother you any more.  Want me to call back in an hour?”
“Yes, if you would.  Thank you, Ash.  Goodbye.”
“’Bye Jan.  Behave yourself.”
A bit late for that now, I thought ruefully.

“Sorry sir,” I said.
“That’s quite all right my dear.  I understand your concerns and I have no problem with them.  It will be better for you in one way, in that at least it will give you a break every hour or so – is that your time interval?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good.  Whether that break will be from something unpleasant, or something overwhelmingly pleasurable, we will have to see.  But I believe the direction was going down the road of the former, wasn’t it.” 
“Yes sir.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning I was going to be punished, sir.”
“Absolutely right.  And why?”
“Because I was rude, sir?”
“Right again, my dear.”

He was silent for perhaps a minute.  I stood there, feeling my body start to tremble.  I did not know what to expect, and the tension in my arms, legs and body was starting to exacerbate my fears.  Then I heard steps again, and I knew he was in front of me.  His hands were again running over my breasts, causing my heart to race as he flicked and teased my rock hard nipples.  I swallowed another moan that threatened to rise in my throat, but it was to no point when the sharp pain erupted in each nipple as he released some sort of metal clamp on to each.

I had sort of expected it, but the reality of the pain overwhelmed the warm glow of pleasure I was starting to build up to under his questing fingers.  All that abruptly disappeared in the immediacy of the fire in my breasts.
“Ow! Ow! Oh shit! Sir! I’m sorry! Please take them off!  I’ll be good!”  As a resolute slave under torture I was pretty pathetic.  I was ready to plead and whine and promise anything just to get them off.  I was not used to them, that was for sure, but I had a suspicion my immediate wishes were not going to be respected.  This was confirmed when I felt something against my mouth.  In mid-protest he slipped in the ball gag.

It was made of hard rubber, and was not so big that I couldn’t deal with it.  I suspect he had a lot worse gags of that type available, but I was wholly preoccupied with the thing now wedged behind my teeth and buckled tightly behind my neck.  As a diversion from the pain in my nipples, I fought the invader in my mouth, trying to chew on it or push it out with my tongue, but I made no progress whatsoever.  I shook my head despairingly and made futile nasal moaning noises.  Now I couldn’t even express my pleasure or pain properly, nor could I communicate with him except in the direst circumstances, when my ‘happy birthday’ routine might save me.

It all suddenly became scary, and I realised how totally under his control I was.  I was his plaything to torment and torture as he saw fit.  Another phone call from Ash was an hour away.  Even assuming he called the cops, how long would they take to get here?  I panicked at that point, flinging myself against the ropes holding my wrists and the cuffs securing my ankles.  It was all pretty futile. I swung about, spinning a bit as one foot left the floor, but I knew I could not escape.  I was irrevocably captured, and all actions subsequent to this moment were going to be responses to outside events, not of my own volition. 
Perhaps I could have started humming at that moment.  Maybe I just wanted a physical test of my bonds, as a final nail in my own metaphorical coffin, to establish once and for all in my mind that I really was a prisoner to my own desires – whatever they may be.

Graham let me have my little outburst.  After a minute all the fight went out of me and I stood meekly whimpering.  The pain in my nipples – momentarily increased by my efforts, now appeared to be slowly settling into a dull pain.
“Are we finished with our little tantrum?”  Graham’s rhetorical question sounded calm and unfazed.  A hand cupped my chin and a finger wiped away a line of drool that had dribbled from around the ball in my mouth.  “Relax, my dear.  Things could be worse.  They may well get worse, in fact.  But they may get better as well.  Importantly, there is no escape now.  You may as well relax and go with the flow.”

*   *   *

And that was how I finally accepted my position and my role.  The evening progressed in a series of somewhat contorted positions, all of which were accompanied by various torments of the pleasurable or painful kind.  I had my buttocks paddled – obviously a stage or two down from the whip and the riding crop, but I could cope with that.  The clamps of course eventually came off my nipples, only to be replaced a couple of more times as my frustration reached new heights.  Graham was a master of driving me to the brink and bringing me down to earth with a thump through the application of some painful element of persuasion.  All of this was, of course, interrupted by Ash two more times.  By that stage I was almost past caring, so frustrated was I at what was happening.  Perhaps my impatience came out, and I’m sure I wasn’t the most diplomatic of call recipients.  But Ash was true to his word and continued to call. 

When came the inevitable time for Graham to partake of some physical pleasure himself, I almost cried with relief.  He had let me climax a couple of times prior to the final performance, but this had been a long time in coming.  I was bent at right angles over a padded horse, my ankles and wrists strapped to the base.  Suffice to say I could not move a muscle.  I had had a couple of changes of gag in the hours – however many they had been – that I had been kept prisoner, and now wore several strips of tape over my mouth, over which a discipline hood had been drawn and laced closed down the back of my head. 
My world was still dark and muffled.  The sweat had poured off my body as I strained and moaned in response to the teasing and testing Graham had put me through.

 “Are you ready for the real thing now?” he finally asked.  I nodded my head as emphatically as I could with it hanging between my downward-stretched arms.
“Are you sure?”

I nodded again, moaning my acceptance.  God I was so horny and frustrated I could not believe myself.  I had never considered myself to be highly sexed or demanding, but I had never experienced this sort of build up before.  Vibrators, clamps and manual stimulation had never come in this intensity before, and I had always been able to bail out if it all became too much.  I had been helpless to resist for hours, now, and I was nearing the end of my strength.  But God, I wanted ‘the real thing’ before the session ended.

I have to say Graham was not a disappointment, although being brutally frank, almost anything would have pushed me over the edge at that point.  When he drove into me from behind, slipping between my stretched and spread legs, I exploded almost instantly, jerking and moaning to the little extent that I could.  Of course Graham wasn’t satisfied with that, and it took another couple of performances from me before he shuddered and convulsed inside me.  By this time, with my head down, I was seeing stars and the blood was pounding incessantly in my ears, mixed with my nasal moaning that must also have been continuous.

Then it was over.  There was a tug on each wrist as the ropes were undone and a voice said:  “That’s it, Jan.  It’s over.  You may go home now.  You did well.  You may see yourself out through the side door.”

And that was it.  I barely understood what he was telling me.  The release of the tension on my arms was so wonderful.  I slowly straightened up, lifting my sweat-drenched body away from the leather of the horse.  I managed to find and undo the knot at the back of the hood and worked it off my head, then pulled away the tape from my mouth. I was still seeing flashes of light, but the noise in my ears lessened with my standing erect.  With difficulty I managed to free my ankles and stepped away from the horse.  How long was it since I had first had those cords wrapped around my wrists?

Graham was gone.  The door into the house was locked when I tried it.  I didn’t care – I was past any analysis of what anything signified at that point.  On a bench was a bottle of water which I drank greedily.  I put on my dress without bothering with my underwear.  The perspiration soaked into the soft cotton material but the night outside was warm and there was no danger of getting a chill.

I moved slowly, as though in a dream.  My head was a mass of thoughts and my body a myriad of sensations, many of which were in conflict and few of which made any sense.  I sat in the car under the streetlight for perhaps ten minutes, just letting everything settle down and allowing my heart to regain its normal rate.  I was just about to drive off when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Jan, it’s Ash.  Am I to assume you have survived, since you’re answering in person now?”
“Uh – yes.  I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Yes, I survived.  I’m just about to go home.  Shit, I feel absolutely shagged.  I was, in fact.”
“Good?”
“Ash – you have no idea.  In fact I had no idea until tonight.  It’s opened a new door for me.”
“I’m glad. You sounded a bit out of it at one stage.”
“I probably was.  If I said anything rude – I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.  I’m pleased you had a good time.”
“Thanks.  Look, I just need to collect my thoughts for a bit.  I’ll email you tomorrow.  Okay?”
“Sure.  Sleep well.”
“No problem there.”  I laughed shakily.  “’Night.”
  12.07.01
updated: 26.06.02

story continues in Vanishing Act 3

o0o