Archive-name: Bondage/bedtime1.txt

Archive-author: Katherine

Archive-title: Oddyssey of Submission



A Writer's Choice Bedtime Story





    Some girls grow up wanting to be Vivian Leigh in "Gone With 

The Wind," gliding down an opulant staircase in an exquisite 

evening gown. My fantasy aspirations came from a different era of 

film. I wanted to be Samantha Eggar in "The Collector," squirming 

helplessly against my ropes with my captor is out of the room, 

loving and dreading the thought of what he would do when he 

returned.

    That wasn't my only fantasy, of course, but it was a powerful 

one. I took a lot of pleasure from it laying in bed alone, rubbing 

myself against the pillow between my legs, wishing for someone who 

could push me to new and higher levers of sexual feeling.

    But I had absorbed just enough feminist philosphy from my 

mother to feel guilty about such thoughts. I also had just enough 

self-protective distrust of men to keep me from asking any of my 

early sexual partners to oblige. So I went off to college with my 

submissive feelings still unfocused, compartmented away from my 

"real" life. They probably would have stayed there but for 

Colleen.

    Colleen was my senior roommate my only year at State: a dark-

haired athletic girl who looked like she might have been a swimmer 

or a lacrosse player. Instead, she was a quiet sociology major and 

the photographer for the campus' alternative newspaper. The other 

girls told ugly jokes about her, including cruel and hateful tales 

of why four roomates had moved out on her in the last year.

    I laughed politely, but secretly I hoped the gossip was true. 

I found out on the last night of Indian sumemr. With no air-

conditioning in the dorm, the room was warm and I was hot. I 

wanted to slip my hand between my legs and enjoy the world's best 

sleeping pill--but Colleen was awake, too, and to judge from her 

breathing and the rustling of the sheets, as restless as I.

    After nearly an hour of mutual sleeplessness, she got up and 

opened a drawer at her dresser. I thought she would head down the 

hall to the bathroom, giving me time to "scratch" my itch. But 

instead she came and stood at the side of my bed.

    "I'm going to massage you a little so you can relax," she said 

in her gentle voice. Without waiting for my reaction, she took my 

foot and began to rub it skillfully, releasing tension I hadn't 

realized was there. Her hands were cool and soothing on my hot 

skin. She worked her way slowly up my leg, kneading my calf in her 

firm fingers, then the back of my thigh. I did nothing and said 

nothing, just laid there and wondered how far she--this--would go.

    Presently she moved to the other leg, beginning again at the 

foot and carrying her knowing touch up towards the softest and 

hottest spot, at the apex of my thighs. Her touch had inflamed my 

already heated pussy, and I was certain she could smell my musk. 

    If so, she gave no sign. Skipping my bottom and hips, her 

hands began to work the knots in my shoulders and back. My 

sleeping shirt made that difficult. When she modestly pushed it up 

to my armpits, I took over and removed it completely. In case that 

hadn't been a clear enough message, I told her "Don't stop. That 

feels wonderful." The tremulous eagerness in my voice was real.

    She stopped for a moment. "It can feel even better."

    "Show me," I whispered.

    "Turn on your back," was her command. 

    I did, spreading my legs slightly. I lay nude before her 

except for my skimpy and well-soaked panties. She spread my legs 

still farther, then turned her attention again to my feet and 

ankles. But there was something different this time -- something 

other than her fingers encircling my ankle. She tried to be both 

quick and casual, afriad I would realize what she was doing and 

stop her. I knew what she was doing. I wanted her to do it. I 

wanted my legs tied open to the bedposts. It was a fantasy coming 

to life.

    When she was finished, she sat on the bed beside me and looked 

deep into my eyes. She saw there what she wanted to -- my 

willingness, my desire. She bent forward to my breast and took a 

nipple in her mouth. The sensation was electric. My nipple grew 

hard under her tongue andlips. I moaned.

    "Tie my hands, too," I whispered.

    She sat me up and tied my hands behind my back with a third 

pair of nylons, then pushed me back down. My weight on my arms 

made me feel suddenly powerless, and a surge of sexual feeling 

charged through me.

    Climbing on the bed at last, Colleen knelt by my head. "You're 

so pretty," she said, stripping off her nightie and throwing it 

aside. The light from the windows illuminated her small oval 

breasts and flat stomach. I took her heady female scent deep into 

my nostrils.

    "Please," I urged.

    She reached out and caressed my breasts, toying with the erect 

nipples. When she bent over to suck them, her own dangled above my 

mouth, and I strained upward, eager to give back what she was 

giving to me. But she kept her back arched and her breasts out of 

reach, and the frustration I felt only fired my own passion.

    "Please," I said, more urgently.

    Colleen crawled on all fours toward the foot of the bed, 

bringing my head between her thighs. Sitting up, she stroked my 

belly and breasts with one hand. With the other, she at last 

sought out my pussy, caressing my slit through the slick cloth of 

my panties. I gasped and squirmed upward, thrusting my hips in a 

quest for the touch that would release what she had built up 

inside me.

    But she took her hand away, and reached instead for her own 

love slit, just a few inches above my face, Stroking herself, so 

near to me, my senses overwhelmed and my body on edge, she 

tortured me by giving herself what I so badly wanted. There was 

nothing I could do but watch and listen and drink her in.

    Colleen stopped short of her own orgasm and looked down at me. 

"Fight against the ropes -- it's better that way," she said, then

leaned forward and pulled the cloth of my panties aside. Her 

tongue found my clitoris.

    Her instructions were superfluous. If I could have closed my 

legs or pushed her away I would have. The sensations were too 

intense to bear. But all I could do was jerk and twist helplessly 

at the bonds that held me, every muscle now rigid. She moved her 

tongue in hard, fast circles, her pace finally matching the 

urgency of my need. Without warning, she plunged three fingers 

into my ready vagina, stretching me so as to intensify still more 

the sensations her tongue was creating.

    I arched my back and pushed myself up at her, and this time 

she didn't pull away. I was moaning meaningless grunts and noises, 

and only the knots restrained my frantic movements. Finally she 

reached under me and drive a well-lubricated finger deep into my 

ass. AS she did, she sucked my clitoris like it was a nipple. I 

came, the muscles of my vagina and sphincter squeezing tight on 

her fingers. She slowed her tongue work but did not stop, and 

another wave of killing pleasure coursed through me, less intense 

but more delicious than the first.

    I had never cried out when having an orgasm before, but I did 

then, so loudly that Colleen stopped and, laughing, shushed me. 

Undoing the knots, she turned and lay beside me.

    "How did you know I would like it?" I whispered as she cuddled 

me.

    She answered, "Because I do," and kissed me deeply before we 

slept.

                                #

    Colleen and I played our games all year, moving into our own 

apartment at semester break for more privacy and freedom. She 

continued to take more interest in tease-torturing me than in her 

own pleasure, enjoying the sense of power that went with reducing 

me to squirming and screaming. I came to crave the total loss of 

control she forced on me, and encouraged her to push me even 

farther. She was only too happy to oblige.

    At the end of the year, Collen got her degree and headed west 

for grad school. I dropped out -- it's hard to study when your 

wrists are bound behind your back to your ankles.

    In the next few years, I took right lovers, five male and 

three female; moved five times to four different cities and towns; 

and held six jobs (counting only those I stayed in a week or 

more). If it seems that there was something missing from my life 

in this stretch, it's because there was.

    I had discovered X-rated movies and a new idol: Terri Hall in 

"The Story of Joanna," forced to experience and ultimately enjoy a 

bizarre sexual slavery. My fantasies of submission took a rougher 

turn, and I even bought a riding crop  in the hope that someone 

would use it on my bottom. I brought it out one day when Linda was 

visiting, and that ended that relationship. I suggested it one 

night to Tom, who loved the idea but was too timid to actually 

land a blow.

    So I was left with masturbation and fantasy -- until I 

discovered the bondage contact magazines, and through them an 

entire sexual underground. On the cover of the first such magazine 

I saw, a striking bare-breasted woman in black corsolette and high 

heels stared out at me as if she knew my secrets. She dangled a

pair of handcuffs from one finger as if inviting me to offer my 

wrists.

    I opened the magazine and skimmed its pages. There were dozens 

of delicious sights among the advertisers' photos: a young girl 

about my age bend back over a chair, breasts thrust out for who 

knew what treatment. A shapely older woman wearing black gloves 

and nylons displayed her whip-marked ass. It was a whole new 

world, strange and exciting. Unzipping my jeans, I slipped my 

fingers inside my already damp panties, and began to stroke my 

clit slowly as I read the ads and stared at the women.

    In time, out of what can only be termed erotic desperation, I 

wrote my own ad. I asked for a woman in hope of recapturing what 

I'd enjoyed with Colleen. I asked for a couple in the hopes of 

being carried further by her knowing touch and his reckless 

strength.

    Seeing the ad was a disturbing experience in itself. Above it 

appeared my photo: standing in a forest, wearing nothing but a 

choker, sandals, and a tan. The white bathing suit marks set off 

my breasts and the triangle of my pubic hair.

    I started to wonder about who else was looking at the photo, 

that very minute, and what they were thinking. A shiver ran 

through me -- a shiver of fear and anticipation. What old friend 

or lover might see it and wonder at the Katherine they never knew? 

And what new friends were even then stirred by my picture and 

sitting down to write me?

    My mind's eye filled with images from all my fantasies of 

being bound and submissive, and I ran my slick fingertips in 

faster and faster circles over my swollen clit. I sropped the 

magazine to the floor as the sexual energy spread in waves 

throughout my body, heat radiating from my flushed skin, my breath 

fast and shallow. As the sensations rose to a familiar peak, I 

reached under my blouse and squeezed the swollen nipple of my 

right breast. Gasping, my body squirming against imaginary bonds, 

I exploded in orgasm.

    Closing my eyes, I savored the fading warmth, and thought 

again of the nameless strangers looking at my body. They knew what 

I was offering. The only question was, did I?

    Letters started arriving within a few weeks, forwarded in big 

brown envelopes by the publisher. Most were from single men. Many 

sent pictures of themselves or their slaves. I read them all, 

acknowledged most with regrets, corresponded with a few of the 

more intriguing. The stories of their exotic experiences and their 

plans for me recharged my fantasy machine and made for several 

weeks of thoroughly satisfying masturbation.

    But my real interest was in the rarer letters from women or 

couples. I wrote excitied answered which brought phone numbers, 

and offers to meet, even offers of plane tickets. Though I found 

myself deferring or declining the offers, it was a tremendous 

relief to no longer feel alone.

    In time I realized that the only thing keeping me from the 

sexual slavery I craved was my own fear, and that fear would never 

go away until I took a chance. So one night, when my craving was 

strong, I looked through my letters for one from Karen and Jim, a 

professional couple in their thirties who lived in Illinois. 

    Their intelligence had reassured me, and their imagination had 

inflamed me. They disdained theatrical titles such as Mistress and 

Master, and spoke of making me a spirited, willful captive rather 

than a broken, submissive slave. Before I could change my mind, I 

called them.

    "This is Katherine," I said.

    "Well, Katherine -- are you ready to become our captive?" 

Karen asked without preamble. 

    I said yes.

    "You know that you'll be punished for taking so long to answer 

our letter."

    I said yes again.

    "You realize that both of us will use and abuse you as we 

wish, and there won't be a thing you'll be able to do about it."

    "That's what I've been wanting now for four years," I told 

her.

    "We'll come to your home for our first encounter," she said. 

"Expect us Friday night. Be freshly bathed and wearing a nightie. 

Unlock your door at eight. Do you understand?"

    I said I did, and she hung up. Friday was six days away.

                                #

    They were late. I had waited on the couch, erading a favorite 

bondage novel, and my anticipation was turning to disappointment 

when Karen entered the house. Eagerly, I stood up to greet her. A 

few moments later she had taken me to the floor, handcuffed my 

wrists and ankles, and filled my mouth with a penis-shaped gag.

    "Little girls shouldn't leave their doors unlocked," she said, 

picking up the book I;d been reading and clucking over its lurid 

cover. Then Jim arrived, carrying two suitcases. He locked the 

door behind him.

    Karen went off to look the house over, and Jim came to crouch 

beside me. "You're a very beautiful woman, and we hope we can give 

yu wahat you need," he said softly. He pressed a small rubber ball 

into my right hand. "If any time tonight you want us to stop or 

slow down, just drop the ball, and we'll do so immediately. We're 

going to make you feel very sepcial -- but only so long as you're 

willing. Understand?"

    I nodded, eyes wide with new emotions. If he had felt between 

my legs he would have seen that there was no question about my 

willingness.

    "Basement," karen said, returning. Seemingly without effort, 

Jim hoisted me to his shoulder and carried me down the stairs. 

Karen follwoed with the larger of the two suitcases. While Jim 

installed three big hooks in the bare rafters, Karen sat beside me 

and talked.

    "Do you know why we've taken you captive?" she asked.

    The right answer was no, and I shook my head.

    "Because we like to take pretty little things like you and 

make them do all the delicious dirty things they're too proper to 

do by themselves. We like to make them lick pussies and suck 

cocks. We like to play with their tits and pussies and make them 

beg for more. WE like to fuck their little cunts and assholes with 

dildos. We like to whip their little bottoms until they're all hot 

and red. That's why we took you captive. That's what we're going 

to do to you."

    She found my nipple through my nightgown and pinched it 

between her fingernails. "And you're going to like it, too, before 

we're done." She kept up the pressure, and I squrimed and moaned 

into my gag. But I kept the ball firmly in my hand.

    They worked as a team, to keep me off balance and in sexual 

anguish. Unlike Colleen, they were careful to take their own 

pleasure. I was bound kneeling over an ottoman, my ankles tied to 

my thighs, my arms bound behind my back. Ken used them as a handle 

as he moved behind me and drove his hard cock into me. His 

strength and maleness overwhelmed me. I had never been taken so 

savagely or so satisfyingly by a man before.

    When he pumped his load deep up inside me, Karen presented her 

pussy at my mouth. I licked her eagerly. She stopped me before she 

came, and Ken brought her a two-headed dildo like I'd seen once in 

a German porno magazine.

    Taking Ken's place behind me, she slid the ribber cock into my 

unprotesting cunt, rotating her hips in a way that made me frantic 

with lust. Then she pulled out, and before I knew what she was 

doing, she pushed it deep inside my ass. Lubricated by Ken's 

fluids and my own, the intruder stretched me and possessed me. 

Colleen drove herself against me with short bucking strokes until 

she orgasmed.

    A blindfold suddenly covered my eyes, and then I felt hands 

untying the soft cotton cord that held my limbs. They tied ,e pm 

tiptoes, hands stretched overhead. Four hands roamed my body: two 

soft and knowing, two calloused and strong. The gag was removed, 

and lips found mine -- woman's lips. Karen kissed me tenderly, 

passionately. "I want to come," I said when she pulled away.

    "You will," she said, and kissed me again. I suddenly realized 

that Ken had moved away. Karen held me, turned me. I felt 

something hard between my thighs, sliding up and down between the 

swollen lips of my pussy. My clit welcomed the stimulation. Just a 

little more --

    Then it was gone, even as I realized what it was: the handle 

of a whip. A moment later I jumped as what felt like a dozen bees 

stung my buttocks. A moment later fire exploded across my back. I 

was being whipped, for the first time after a thousand imaginings.

    Karen kissed me hungrily, one hand roaming my breasts, the 

other working skillfully between my legs, as Ken brough the whip 

down on my exposed skin. I moaned into her kisses, pressed against 

her soft skin. I danced to both her touch andt he whip's, the ball 

clenched firmly in my hand. I could have made them stop. I didn't 

want to.  

    When the orgasm came, my entire body blazed. For a long 

moment, I hung weakly from my wrists, panting, my eyes clenched 

shut behind the blindfold. Then as the unmatched and indescribable 

moment passed, I let the ball drop at last.

    Afterwards they both held me. They didn't need to ask how it 

had been for me. We all knew it had been sepcial.

    "You're a very sweet slave, Katherine," said Karen after a 

time, cradling my head against her breasts. "We'd like you to come 

and live with us. But this isn't the time to decide." In the 

morning they went back to Illinois, even though I begged them to 

stay. But they left a plane ticket and a black leather collar on 

the bed for me to use when I'm ready.

    I think I'll be ready soon.



==================================================================

A version of this story was published by VARIATIONS in April,

1987, as ODYSSEY OF SUBMISSION by Katherine Summers. This is the

original unedited text, as the author meant it to be read.

==================================================================