The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I chose the house because the garage doors were open and it offered the quickest way to get the car under cover. Of course the fact it was near the edge of town helped, too. It was almost 7:30 am, one of the worst possible times, but getting the car to come even this far had taken all night. I’d lucked out because the streets were still empty—another couple of minutes and I’d have been screwed. Realizing I’d have to be quick, I drove into the garage.

I turned around to the back seat. “JoJo, close the garage doors, then stay with Myra.”

“Yes Master.” She seemed a little sullen, having woken up extremely horny this morning. Unfortunately I wasn’t exactly in a position to do anything about it right now. Still, she was a slave, she had to learn to live with disappointment.

I went to the trunk and pulled out a ski mask from the supplies bag. Mask on, I grabbed my overnight bag and gun and made my way inside through the garage door. I suppose I’d expected the typical family scene—Mom, Dad and a couple of kids. What I got was a little different. The woman was in her early thirties, attractive, nice figure, with mousy brown hair. She was dressed in a female business suit, a uniform really, with one of those little name badges that receptionists wear. The girl was fifteen or sixteen, obviously the daughter, with her mother’s eyes and hair. She wore some kind of school uniform.

The girl opened her mouth to scream but when I pointed the gun at her it died to a whimper.

“Not a move, not a sound, understand?” I rasped.

The woman nodded, gulping. “Please, my purse is on the counter,” she said quickly. “It’s all we have, please just take it and go.”

I gave her my best psycho look. “Tell me, lady, was that ‘not a sound?’”

“No,” she whispered.

I shook my head. “You just don’t give up do you? We can fix that.” I reached into the overnight, pulling out JoJo’s strap gag, and tossed it to her. She caught it, recoiling in disgust from the huge penis mouthpiece. A man could never be this large and still walk.

I was deliberately acting twitchy, as if I’d plug them both in a second. “Well, bitch? What are you waiting for?” I snarled.

“What—” she stammered. I suppose she’d never seen one before in her life.

“Put the dick in your mouth sweetheart,” I said coldly. “Just like you were sucking someone off, only fasten the straps so it stays there.”

She stared at it, finally realizing what it was for. She looked up, eyes full of fear. “Please, we’ll be quiet. There’s no need—”

I put the gun to the girl’s head, letting my hand shake a little. I’d already noticed the third breakfast setting, which meant I didn’t have time for any plea-bargaining. The girl whimpered, which seemed to make up the woman’s mind. Slowly and with trembling hands she opened wide and pushed the mouthpiece inside.

“Now fasten the fucking straps!” I hissed. “Tighter, bitch, or you’ll end up burying a daughter.” She grunted as she pulled the strap extra tight. So far, so good.

Then I threw her the pair of leather cuffs JoJo had been wearing. “One on each wrist, nice and tight.” She gave me a look, the classic doe caught in the headlights, before her eyes flashed to the gun against her sobbing daughter’s head. Trembling, she fastened the cuffs on her wrists. I made her turn around and put her hands behind her so that I could lock the cuffs together.

One-handed, I then took Myra’s cuffs and fastened the girl’s hands behind her, bending down so that I could whisper in her ear, “OK, sweetheart, who else is here?”

“No..no one.”

“Bullshit! I can see the other table place, stupid.” I pressed the muzzle harder against her temple. “Now tell me who it’s for. Is it daddy?”

“M. . .my sister,” she stuttered.

“Where is daddy, by the way?”

“With his girlfriend.” There was such venom in that answer that I was forced to believe her. Looking around, I saw an almost clean dish towel that would do nicely. Balling it up, I brought it to her lips. After seeing what I’d done to Mommy, she had a pretty good idea what was about to happen.

“Please, no!” she gasped.

I smiled my best psycho smile at her. “Listen sweetcakes, this is how it works. While you and Mommy aren’t gagged my trigger finger is awfully itchy. I could blow your sister’s head clean off. So open up like a good girl and help my finger stop itching.”

She was scared. She looked over at her mother. The woman made a small gagged sound and nodded.

“A-all right,” she said in this tiny voice. “But please don’t hurt my sister. She’s a little slow but umph.“

I pushed the towel firmly into her mouth, sealing it in place with a couple of strips of duct tape. The girl struggled a little and a strangled sound came from behind the gag. I kept applying tape until I was satisfied, then ran my thumbs over her taped lips to ensure the adhesive had a good seal. “There now, that’s a lot better. I feel my finger settling down already.”

“Ummpph,” she moaned.

I smiled. She was louder than I’d like but she wouldn’t be waking the neighbors. Most importantly, I doubted either woman could be heard outside the kitchen. A search of the kitchen drawers revealed a few additional towels, two of which made excellent blindfolds. The girl started shaking her head and making little gagged noises as I tried to tie the towel in place.

I looked at the mother. “Tell her to stop or I’ll be forced to hurt her,” I said.

The woman made a muffled pleading sound, though it was hard to tell if it was meant for me or her daughter. In the end it didn’t matter—the girl stopped struggling and I was able to tie the towel over her eyes. I repeated the process with her mother.

“OK, listen up,” I hissed. “I want you to understand just what these blindfolds are. They are your protection. While you’re wearing them, you can’t identify us. That means that we have no problems letting you go when we’re finished. If they come off and you see us then you are in big trouble, so you keep them on. Is that clear?”

They nodded.

“Good! Now, I am aware that you can see through the slit at the bottom. That is why you will keep your heads down and your chins on your chests. Is that clear? If I see anyone with her head up, then that is seriously bad for them. If I see anyone with her head back, it’s bad for the whole family. Understand?”

There was a second chorused nod.

“Good.”

Looking around, I saw a radio on the counter. I turned it on, keeping the usual station but upping the volume a little. The sound would cover my movements and reduce the chance either of the women could be heard outside. Looking back, I found them both with heads down as I’d ordered. Good little girls. Of course, there was little chance that they would ever be set free, since Doc’s paranoia almost guaranteed that they’d be added to inventory. Still, the hope would keep them in line for a while. Looking at them as they squirmed helplessly, I felt myself getting hard again, and wondered which one I’d end up fucking first. But that could wait until later. Quietly, I slipped outside to retrieve the slaves.

I’d rebound Myra earlier so I could use her cuffs, but she’d been so noisy lately that I let her keep Doc’s gag. I carried her through to the den, since I didn’t want the two in the kitchen to know we had another captive. She struggled and moaned a little but she was as helpless as the other two. Tying her ankles to a radiator and assuring myself that she couldn’t be seen from outside, I wandered back to the kitchen.

JoJo was standing at the door to the garage, awaiting orders. I tossed her one of the rolls of tape. “Use this to tie their ankles to the chairs. Tape their elbows, too.”

“Yes sir,” she said. I’d ordered her not to call me Master while we were here.

Grabbing a couple of extra towels, I went in search of the missing sister. All of the downstairs rooms were empty. There were the usual family pictures and other collectibles, but I noted that nothing said “Daddy,” not even pictures from better days. I figured that there had been a complete break and wondered what the story was.

The sound of running water led me to a shower room on the second floor. All in all, the house was a nice one, built in the late sixties and probably worth about a quarter mil. I wondered how they could afford it. So sister number two was having a shower. Feeling a little like Norman Bates, I crept a little closer before ripping the curtain aside, ready to pounce on her before she could scream.

But she didn’t. Instead, she said, “Hello.”

The girl looked about thirteen, her body just starting into those interesting changes that make up adolescence. But her voice and attitude were definitely younger, around five or six. I remembered what the other sister had said before I gagged her. What was the PC term for it—“Developmentally disabled?” In any case, she wasn’t going to be a problem.

“Hello,” I said, keeping my voice neutral but light. “Who are you?”

“Amy,” she said in a friendly voice. “Who are you?”

“Um. . .Jimmy. I’m Jimmy,” I said, offering my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Amy.”

She shook my hand very formally, like a little kid. “Why are you wearing that?,” she asked, pointing at the ski mask. “Is your head cold?”

“Yup. I have a really bad head cold.”

“Becky, gets those,” Amy confided, “but only when she has a test at school.”

“And Becky is?”

“She’s my sister.”

“Ah. Well, here,” I said, giving her a towel, “you better dry off or you’ll catch cold, too.”

She seemed like a sweet kid, so I kept my eyes on the bathroom shelves while she dried herself, studying them for clues about the inhabitants. As expected, there was no shaving kit or any hint of male toiletries. Becky had been telling the truth. I relaxed a little.

But now I had a new problem. I didn’t want to have to tie Amy up if I could avoid it—she could panic or have a fit or something. Instead, I took her to her room and helped her get dressed. I told her that there would be no school today and that her mother and sister were too busy to play. I had a friend who could play with her, though, as long as she didn’t go downstairs. Would she wait here?

Like a good girl, she nodded. Then I went in search of JoJo. I found her putting the finishing touches to the mother’s bonds. She’d done a fantastic job, far in excess of what I’d expected. This could only mean she wanted to be fucked badly. Slaves always over-perform when they’re desperately horny.

I took off the ski mask and guided JoJo to one side. “Here, put on this mask. You’ll find a little girl called Amy upstairs,” I whispered into her ear. “I want you to play with her until I say otherwise. Whatever happens, keep her upstairs. Do a good job and I’ll reward you latter.”

A sparkle appeared in the slave’s eyes as she pulled on the ski mask. We both knew what reward meant. “Now remember keep the mask on and stay away from the windows,” I instructed. “If the girl asks why you’re wearing it, say you have a head cold.”

JoJo seemed a bit confused at the final part, and I wondered if Doc had given her basic child care training. Still, for the moment it didn’t matter. As she trotted upstairs to play with Amy, I wandered quietly into the kitchen and sat on a chair by the counter. The radio was enough of a cover, and I doubted either of them knew I was there.

As time went on, they became more and more certain that they were alone, taking more risks than they would have if they had known I was watching. Suddenly, the mother let out a gagged scream and struggled for a few minutes. She paused, listening I think for some response. Finally she tried again with similar effects. Then she seemed to realize that it was hopeless, that she was too well bound to escape and her muzzle made screaming impossible. She settled down with her chin on her chest as ordered, surrendering herself to the situation.

In contrast, Becky was a fighter. Most of the medals hanging up in the den had been hers. I watched as her strong, athletic body struggled against the bonds. She screamed into the muffling gag in a desperate bid for freedom. She had none of her mother’s realism; it was hopeless but she fought anyway. I found myself hard, imagining the young hellcat bucking below me as I fucked her helpless body.

Quietly, I walked up behind her.

“You know, Becky, I always knew you’d be trouble,” I murmured, keeping my voice low so that only the girl could hear me. Becky immediately stiffened and placed her chin against her chest as I’d ordered. I had a feeling Becky would make a good slave. She sat trembling for a few minutes as I enjoyed her obvious terror. Then I continued in a soft, friendly voice, “Yes, the first time I saw you I thought you’d be a problem. Your mother has too much to lose, but you—well, you’re young and stupid, and you don’t know when you’re licked.”

Reaching down, I tugged at her cuffed wrists. “Did you really think you could get free? Did you think I’d let you?” She shivered and tried to make herself smaller. I ran my fingers over her gagged mouth, finding the tape as smooth and well stuck as before.

“And as for all that noise. . .well, your mother can’t hear you and she’s only a few feet away. You’re completely helpless, you know? I could do whatever I wanted to you, and chances are that your mother wouldn’t even know.” I smiled. “Not that she could help you anyway.”

Becky trembled. I think she could see where this was going. I let her stew for a while, allowing enough time for her helplessness to sink in, then I made my proposal. “You know, Becky, I have nothing against your family. Me and my friend just needed somewhere to stay for a while. If I thought I could trust you I’d untie you in a shot.”

“Ummpph,” she said, nodding her head frantically, her light brown hair flapping against her head. “Umm mmuum muffmm mmupphh!”

“What?” I asked. “I can trust you?”

Realizing that her gagged sounds were unintelligible, she just nodded.

“Well,” I said as if I were thinking about it, “you’d have to agree to do whatever I say..”

She nodded again. I reached down and fumbled with the tape over her mouth as if I were going to remove it. In fact I smoothed it down a little more. Then I pretended to change my mind. “No. At least not yet. Once you’ve proved that you’re to be trusted, I’ll see what I can do.”

She fell back, moaning with disappointment.

By this time I was extremely close to her, my lips almost touching her ear. I doubted that her mother had heard any of the previous conversation, but this part I definitely wanted to keep private.

“I’ll do a deal with you, Becky. I promise not to hurt you as long as you just sit back and give me no trouble. If you’re really good, I’ll cut you free, but in any case the worse that will happen is that you’ll be uncomfortable for a few hours. Nothing bad will happen, I promise. And just think what a great story you’ll have to tell your friends at school.”

She relaxed a little. Now came the punchline.

“However, if you do give me trouble, like screaming or trying to escape, well, then I feel that it would be appropriate for you to pay a forfeit. Something to compensate for the trouble you caused.”

She stiffened when I moved in even closer and yelped into the gag as I put my hand on her breast. Her tits were young and firm, a tidy handful feeling warm and pleasant even through her clothes. With my other hand I brushed some of the hair from her face and rubbed her cheek. “You’re a very pretty girl, Becky,” I whispered. “I can think of all kinds of interesting forfeits for a pretty girl.”

She started sobbing.

“Tell me, are you still a virgin?” I asked. She nodded, her shoulders heaving as she fought conflicting emotions. “Oh, come on. I’m sure that someone would have had a crack at your cherry by now,” I snorted. “I mean, you’re such a pretty thing.”

She sobbed.

“Now, just shush,” I soothed. “If you do yourself a favor and be good, I won’t have an excuse to find out. All right?”

She nodded miserably. I doubted she would be any more trouble. I allowed myself a parting grope to hammer my message home, then walked over to her mother.

The older woman moved only slightly, just enough to relieve her uncomfortable position. She was obviously a realist, understanding that the only way to keep her family alive was to cooperate. That would make my life a little easier. Despite the radio, she sensed my presence and stiffened. As with her daughter, I came in closer so that our conversation couldn’t be heard. Bending down, I looked at her name badge. It said “Sandra Fisher. Counter Assistant, Belleville Saving and Loan.”

“Sandra,” I whispered close to her ear, “if you promise to be quiet I’ll remove the gag.”

She nodded.

“Good girl,” I said. “I want you to keep your voice at this level, understand? Any louder and I’ll gag you again.”

She nodded a second time.

Reaching down I loosened the strap and removed the gag. She sat, working her jaw for a while. When I was sure she was comfortable, I began. “So Sandra, as you can tell we have a situation here. Me and my friend need somewhere quiet to hold up for a few hours, and unfortunately, that place is here.”

She blinked up at me. “What have you done with Amy?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Nothing,” I said. “My friend is looking after her, and if you cooperate she need never know any of this unpleasant business took place. Now, this is what’s going to happen: first, we are going to make a few phone calls. Nice simple ones, just to tell everyone who needs to know that the Fisher family has a one day virus. Next, you are going to tell me everyone who you may even remotely expect to come around. The reason is that if anyone comes and I don’t expect them, I’ll shoot them. Understand?” She nodded. “Finally, you are going to sit here quietly until me and my friend have gone.”

“How long will that be?”

“Three or four hours if you cooperate. If you’re good, we’ll just leave you tied up and ring a neighbor when we’re far enough away. If you’re bad, we may have to take Amy or Becky with us, OK?”

She nodded, sucking in a shaky breath.

“OK. First up, where are your car keys?”

“I. . .I don’t have a car. My husb—”

“Yeah, I know about him,” I said. If I’d thought about it, I’d have realized that no car in garage and no car on the drive probably meant no car, period. “All right, let’s up that estimate by an hour, then. Now, tell me Sandra, is there anyone who you’re expecting to come around? A boyfriend, a doctor, friends of Becky’s, anyone?”

“N..no. Not during the day, anyway. Perhaps in the evening. ..”

“I need to be sure, Sandra. We’re going to ring all of those people and make sure they don’t come here today. You see, if anyone else finds out we’re here, it’s likely to get unpleasant. And you don’t want things like that happening while your daughters are here.”

“No,” she whispered seeing the implied threat.

“Good.”

The list was longer than I’d expected. Seems that Sandra Fisher was a member of the PTA, an activist in at least a dozen good causes. I’d seen her type before, proto-career women trapped in the home by an unplanned early baby, trying to regain the freedom and power they’d lost through volunteer work. I’ve often felt that such people are a little pathetic, yet strangely enough I found that I liked Sandra. I wasn’t sure if it was her helplessness or if it was some fellow feeling because she was about my age. Whatever it was, I regretted not being able to tell her the truth, about Doc, about my work and most of all about what was likely to happen to her family when he arrived. Still, I pushed such unpleasant thoughts out of the way and got on with business.

First up came the calls. I’d made a list of everyone we needed to call, verifying the numbers she gave me before we dialed in case she tried to slip the local police number in there. I was relieved to see that she wasn’t trying anything, but still it paid to be sure.

Pulling her chair over to the kitchen phone, I bent down and whispered in her ear, “We’re going to make some calls now. This is how it works—I’ll dial, and when someone answers you’ll say that it’s Sandra Fisher calling and that you can’t stop to talk because you have a doctor’s appointment. You will tell them that the girls woke up with a fever and a rash this morning and that as a result you’re all staying at home today and not accepting visitors. Do not chit-chat, and do not deviate. Just deliver the message, explain that you are in a hurry, and say good-bye. Clear?”

She nodded. I felt sure the idea of a child’s illness would keep most of the busybody PTA crowd away, as well as explain the absences from work and school. As an excuse it had the advantage of being consistent with little chance of conflicting stories attracting attention.

“One last word of warning?” I murmured so that Becky wouldn’t hear. “You may be thinking that you could raise the alarm with a friend and that they could call the police.” She shook her head silently. “Well, in case you have, let me explain what will happen. I figure the soonest a patrol car can get here is three minutes. That’s assuming that they’re actually in the neighborhood and that your friend understands the message and passes it on straight away.” I let a coldness slip into my voice. “Now, in three minutes we can be long gone, but first I’ll take a knife and make sure no one will be able to look at your daughter again without screaming.”

She trembled.

“Do we understand each other Sandra?” I said. “All you have to do is play along and everything will be all right. Fuck with me, and I take it out on Becky. Do you understand?”

“Y. . .yes.”

I dialed the first number.

She made the phone calls with no trouble; one to work, one to Becky’s school and another to the special school Amy attended. Then we went through the people who might have called for one reason or another, leaving answering machine messages in a number of cases for later.

Then I gave both of them a small drink. Sandra didn’t protest when I shoved the penis gag back into her mouth. Becky gave me more trouble, but I was ready for her—I used a new towel and fresh tape and took the time to gag her properly. When I was finished, she was silenced even better than before.

I left them for a few minutes and did another fast recon through the ground floor. I needed to deal with Myra soon and wanted to keep her presence secret. I did contemplate taking Sandra and Becky down to the basement, but it offered too many opportunities. In the end, I settled for the utility room, a small windowless space with a washer and dryer, next to the kitchen. I pulled the chairs with their struggling contents inside, standing them back to back so that they couldn’t see each other. Next, I checked the bonds and found them tight. To be sure, I locked the cuffs and Sandra’s gag in place with little padlocks. I wasn’t worried about Sandra because I knew how effective Doc’s gags were, but I did the nipple test on Becky to be sure. She seemed a little loud, so I smoothed the tape over her mouth and ensured a good seal. The next time was better. I took the added precaution of turning on the dryer. Bangs and strange noises are common when you dry clothes and the sound covered their gagged moans. Satisfied that they were safely put away, I went to deal with Myra.

Myra had been more than a little subdued since the shooting, probably because of the shock. In any case she gave me no trouble, so I let her use the downstairs john and cleaned her up a little. She was still wearing the remains of her fetish costume and I couldn’t see how I could change that. Still, a pair of Sandra’s clean panties from the utility room made her feel better. I replaced the gag and tied her tightly to the radiator once more, though this time I found her some cushions.

Rummaging through the kitchen, I rounded up a cold breakfast. After I’d eaten, I put the rest on a tray and called JoJo downstairs. “Here’s some food for you and the girl,” I explained. “Keep her upstairs for now.” I stepped back and gave her a good once-over. Becky and JoJo seemed about the same size. “If you get the opportunity, go into the other daughter’s room and see if you can find a change of clothes. Maybe you two could play dress-up or something.” I didn’t expect visitors this early but someone could call later, and if JoJo could answer the door with a plausible excuse about being a relative or a babysitter, she could head off some unfortunate questions. Of course, this meant she had to lose the latex and leather ensemble. I then explained that I was going out for awhile and that she should make sure that the house looked quiet and empty while I was gone.

This proved to be a lot of orders, and JoJo was visibly flushed by the time I’d finished. I smiled and patted her ass, telling her to get upstairs and look after Amy. If she did a good job, she’d get an equally good fucking later.

After JoJo was gone, I made sure the answering machine was set up in case anyone called. I didn’t want the alarm raised by some busybody who couldn’t get a response to a call. Satisfied that I’d covered all the angles, I headed out through the back, locking the door behind me. There was an alley at the end of the back yard, and I vaulted the wall into it. It was best if no one saw me around the Fisher’s.

As I headed off towards the store I wondered what we would do about the Fishers. If it was up to me I’d leave them alone; after all, they knew nothing about us or our business. I must confess that I liked Sandra, and little Amy was a peach. We could just leave them tied up as I’d said. It would be a mystery for the local police and an exciting story for Becky to tell her friends at school. Of course, the final decision was Doc’s. A cold feeling ran down my spine; knowing him, we’d end up recruiting the whole family. I shuddered, thinking of them mindlessly servicing tired business men, or worse; I’d heard that mother-daughter acts are quite popular in Bangkok this year. . .

As I neared the shops I thought of Sam. He’d been Doc’s agent in New York for the past seventeen years, and was one of the most senior people in the organization. Despite that, he’d been conned into accepting a commission from the gruesome twosome at the bar. Well, I suppose we all get old. My first job was to warn him, however, since Doc’s liking for compartmentalization can leave his people very exposed if things go wrong. At this moment, the only link our Yuppie friends had to Doc was Sam—I only hoped he’d been careful. OK, so I admit that it had also crossed my mind that he could provide backup, but it was now much less of a concern. With no sign of Toby or his masters for several hours, I was starting to think I’d gotten things under control. Now, all I had to do was wait for Doc to show up.

Doc is a little like the devil. He can assess the exact price you put on your soul, and buy it from you. They say we all have our price; Doc works by meeting that price, buying someone’s absolute loyalty. Of course, this only works if a person has high moral integrity in the first place, otherwise they might just welch on the deal. So Doc is very choosy about who he buys. I always find it ironic that a group of people who will steal someone’s daughter and sell her as a slave are all people whose word you can trust absolutely.

Since Sam once told me his story, I think it’ll illustrate what I mean. When he was eighteen, Sam had married his childhood sweetheart, Connie. She was seventeen at the time they had been each others only partners. It was a match made in heaven—they were perfect together. I can’t think of any couple more happy. They settled down, raised kids, Sam built a business and everything seemed perfect. The only problem was that Sam was sexually dominant, into bondage games and S&M, and Connie just wasn’t interested. So for twenty years he buried his dark desires and got on with his life. Gradually, the tension grew and one day over a beer he mentioned it to Doc, whom he’d met in the army. Doc had smiled that devil smile of his and made a bid for Sam’s soul. He needed an agent for his organization, a contact in the Big Apple with a clean criminal record and a business to use as a cover. In return, he would give Sam what he’d always wanted—a pain slut who would welcome his dark side. Sam was shocked at first, and even mused over the idea of turning Doc in, but gradually Doc’s poison started working on his conscience. He started to think, why not? He had enough money that he could keep a mistress without depriving his family. Hell, he would get even more if he worked for Doc.

Then one day, he saw her on a bus. She was twenty years his junior, and as it was the early eighties I suppose she had that preppy big-haired Farrah Fawcett look. Sam realized he wanted her. . .

And the deal was struck.

That was seventeen years ago, and Sam has kept the same slave ever since. Slaves evolve over time, even the fuck toys. They get their own interests and tastes. Of course, underneath they are still slaves, but the interesting things is that they’re also real people with real interests. Alison, Sam’s slave, is now a well-respected expert on early Coptic manuscripts. She runs her own business and for three weeks in four runs her own life. For the last seventeen years, however, that fourth week has been Sam’s, and during that time she is his devoted slave as he inflicts sweet pain on her willing body.

Musing over Sam’s story, I realized I was approaching the local shopping area. Whatever happened to the Fishers, I knew I couldn’t use their phone since the phone company records would link them with whoever I called, so I was happy to see that the shops had a number of public phones. I was also pleased at the range of shops and that there was both a druggist and a hardware store nearby. That should speed things up.

But first the phone. . .

For one week a month, Sam was in Manhattan “on business,” which meant that he was whipping Alison’s sweet behind or torturing her pussy. The rest of the time he was at home or playing golf, with one of his sons running his legitimate business. I wondered which week this was.

“Hello?” An older woman’s voice answered.

“Hello, Mrs. Turner?” I replied. “My name is Charles Kyle. I don’t know if you remember me—I’m a friend of your husband’s.” In the background I heard a girl’s voice, probably the daughter, asking about something. I listened as Connie shooed her away. I don’t think Connie ever knew what Sam and I did, although she knew he had some extra source of income and that I was involved somewhere. She’d been discreet and dutiful, but it was obvious she didn’t want her children involved. “I was wondering if I could talk to him?”

I heard a muffled sob. “I’m s-sorry Mr. Kyle, I. . .I suppose you haven’t heard. I’m afraid my husband is dead.”

“Dead?” A chill went down my spine. “When? How?”

“The police found his body last night. He’d been on a business trip to Manhattan. They say it was street crime.”

I leaned back against the clear partition of the phone booth, overcome by a sudden wave of guilt. “Oh, God, no. Oh, Connie, I am so sorry!”

I said, earnest. “I’ve known Sam for the past eight years, and we meet whenever I’m in New York. I don’t know—is there anything I can do?”

There was a pause. “My husband spoke of you often, and said that you were a very loyal young man,” she said softly.

“He did?”

“Yes. Mr. Kyle, I must ask you to break a confidence that I am sure my husband asked you to keep. It’s about the other woman.”

I was silent.

There was a sniffing sound that was almost a chuckle. “Come now, Mr. Kyle. You must realize that I knew,” she said. “I was married to my husband for thirty seven years, and I knew him better than I knew myself.” I heard the pain in that voice, and something more, a need that I couldn’t refuse.

“Yes?” I said, suddenly feeling very tired. “The other woman.”

“He’s been seeing her every month for the past seventeen years?”

“Yes.”

“And he does things with her. Things he and I couldn’t do.”

“Please,” I begged. “Don’t do this. Leave it alone.”

“Did they have children?” she said, insistent.

“No. No, theirs wasn’t that kind of relationship.”

She seemed a little relieved but said, “Then she’s alone.”

“Yes.”

“Ah. I’m lucky, you see. I have the children. They’re here now, keeping me company. It must be very terrible, being alone.”

“I suppose so,” said.

“Please, Mr. Kyle, if you should speak with that woman, have her call me. I want to meet her, perhaps have her stay with us a few days. . .” I heard Connie trail off, trying to collect herself. “She and my husband shared so much. I wouldn’t want her to be alone, not now.”

Despite everything, I found myself crying. Sam had been right about Connie. She was one in a million. “I’ll do that, yes,” I said, “God bless you, Connie.”

I heard a sob then, and moved to hang up when she said, “Wait, Mr. Kyle? How can I reach you for the memorial service.”

“I travel. Don’t worry—I’ll know when to come.”

I hung up the phone, my knuckles white on the handset. So Sam was killed last night. I wondered if it was before or after my visit to the club. I had no doubt they were connected. Sam had been Military Intelligence, and according to Doc he’d been the last man out of Saigon. I doubt a man like that would let himself get mugged. I started to ring Doc but then got to thinking. If Sam had been with Alison then she could be in danger. Quickly, I dialed her number.

The receiver was lifted. “Hello, Alison?” I said.

“Ah! My dear Charles.” I have never been so happy to hear Doc’s voice in my life. “So glad you could join us.”

“Doc, Sam’s dead.”

“I know, dear boy. Why do you think we’re here?” he replied. “Poor Alison is so distressed, I was forced to give her a sedative. Now, about my shipment—have you disposed of it as we agreed?”

I closed my eyes. “Well, no. You see—”

I was shocked when he said, “Good show! I was a little concerned that you had. Good to see you’re thinking on your feet. Now, where are you?”

Someone who didn’t know him would think Doc wasn’t all that upset about Sam—I suppose it’s one of those British reserve things. But I knew him, and knew that specific clipped tone meant he was upset, and would be looking for payback at the first opportunity. Pushing those thoughts away fo the moment, I gave him the address in a prearranged code, shifting grid reference to give the town, the order the street name appeared in the local phone book and the house number. If anyone was listening in, they wouldn’t have the faintest idea where I was.

“Business or residential?” he asked.

“Residential.”

“Any residuals?” Meaning any residents.

“Some,” I admitted.

“Well, I suppose it can’t be helped. Inside two hours.”

I hung up, feeling relieved. The ball was back in Doc’s court.

After all that, I decided to do some shopping. Being a cockeyed optimist, I worked on the assumption that Doc would decide to let the Fishers go. In that case we couldn’t leave such obvious clues as the custom cuffs and gag behind, so I bought fresh bondage supplies from the hardware store. Though I wanted to keep Amy out of it, I bought enough to tie her, too, and a little extra in case of unexpected guests. Then I went into the drugstore for some surgical tape and on a whim bought one of those cheap disposable cameras, just in case any opportunities arose.

Satisfied, I headed back to the house. I made sure no one saw me slip into the alley, then hop over the fence and in through the back door. When I opened the utility room, I was greeted with quite a sight. Somehow, Becky had managed to turn her chair a full 180 degrees AND cause it to fall at an angle. When I opened the door, Sandra’s cuffed hands were just inches from her daughter’s taped lips. They “looked” my way and I could smell the fear in the room. Even if they had managed to get Becky’s gag off, I doubted it would have done much good. Still, this provided me with an excuse to have some fun.

“You know,” I said, leaning in the doorway, “I think someone is going to have to pay a forfeit.”

Becky started trembling as the impact of what I’d said to her hit home. I pulled the chairs back into the kitchen, unplugged the phone and drew the blinds. In the center of the room was an island counter with its own spotlights. I turned them on, turning the empty island into a kind of mini stage. Racing upstairs, I recovered the mask from JoJo. She had changed into a tight polo neck sweater and a short leather miniskirt. I has to smile—this must be as provocative as Becky’s wardrobe got, and JoJo would have little choice but to pick the sluttiest items she could find. Personal slaves adapt their clothing styles to their owners’ preferences, but simple fuck toys like JoJo are programmed to go for the lowest common denominator: heels, boots, leather, latex. The uniform of the slut.

“Very nice,” I said encouragingly. “Where’s the girl?”

“Asleep in her room, Master,” JoJo said suggestively. I could tell what she wanted but right now I was busy.

“Later,” I said.

JoJo looked disappointed. “Whatever you want, Master. But please, master, do I have your permission to orgasm once before then?”

I grinned at the request. Like most slaves, JoJo couldn’t orgasm without permission. “Well. . .okay, since you did such a good job with Amy.”

JoJo burst into a smile, and took out a large vibrating dildo.

“Where did you get that from?” I asked, puzzled. I was pretty sure we hadn’t brought one with us.

“Oh, I found it in the bottom of the girl’s underwear drawer,” JoJo said happily.

So little Becky had a secret after all. This was too good an opportunity to miss. I held out my hand meaningfully.

“Oh, master!” JoJo pouted.

“Now, JoJo, we both know that you can finger yourself with no trouble,” I said reasonably. “So give me the dildo.”

She handed it over like she was losing an old friend.

“That’s a good girl,” I said, approving. “As a reward, you can orgasm five times.”

JoJo’s eyes sparkled at the ‘reward.’ As a slave she could never give herself an orgasm as powerful as being fucked by her owner, but five would keep her satisfied for now. Smiling, I pocketed the dildo and stepped closer, sliding the flat of my hand over the crotch area of JoJo’s leather miniskirt. The girl cooed. Already massively turned on, her body trembled at the additional sensation of my hand, and the smell of hot pussy filled the air. Even so, she seemed very disappointed when I ordered her back to Amy’s room for her reward, slapping her on that tight little butt as a parting shot. Sometimes, this job is worth it.

Pulling on the mask, I headed back downstairs, where I found both women struggling and mewing. I think they’d realized they were in trouble, but not exactly what kind of trouble they were in. I could remember seeing an old curtain rail in the utility room. Collecting it, I found it was thin and whippy and would make an excellent switch. To test it, I whipped it hard against the counter, listening to the swish as it swiped through the air. Immediately the women fell silent. I turned the radio on and tuned it to a rock channel. Satisfied we had suitable music, I pulled Sandra’s blindfold off and cut her free of the chair. As I pulled her close, she struggled a little and looked at me with big doe-like eyes as I unfastened the lock that held the cuffs together. The rest of her body was free, but the cuffs were still locked to her wrists and the gag was padlocked in place.

“Forfeit time,” I announced. She looked down at her bound daughter then at the curtain rod and tried to say something. I reached down, snatching off Becky’s blindfold. Sandra was looking at the rod with increasing alarm, then shot a furtive glance at the back door.

“It’s locked,” I said. “And I still have the gun.”

She had started to say something unintelligible when a suitable song began. Throwing myself into the chair she’d been bound to only minutes before, I pantomimed making myself comfortable. Then I smiled up at the helpless woman and flexed the rod.

“You both misbehaved and tried to escape. That was bad. Now, your forfeit is, I want you to strip for me, Sandra. Gyrate to the music, removing each piece of clothing in a slow, sexy way.”

A yelp emerged from behind the gag which I chose to ignore. “Well? What are you waiting for?” I purred.

More unintelligible sounds emerged from behind the gag and she and Becky exchanged glances. I was sitting only feet away from the daughter, and it would take no effort to just reach over and whip her. Sandra seemed to realize this, or at least imagine what could happen. Slowly, the humiliation burning on her cheeks, she started to move to the beat. Hesitantly at first, to the point where I threatened to whip the parts of her body she didn’t move, but later with more feeling, she started to strip.

The jacket came first. At my insistence she slid it part way down her shoulders several times before I finally had her discard it. Next came the blouse. I made her open each button in turn and wiggle her ass at me as she did so. I noticed a little tear trickle down her cheek, and made the humiliation worse by having her thrust her chest towards me as she unzipped the skirt. Then I had her caress her breasts as the skirt slipped down her gyrating hips. Now she was in her underwear, a satin peach-colored bra, panty and garter belt set. She hesitated when I demanded that she take off the bra, but I was sat next to the helpless Becky, and Sandra was too good a mother to disobey. The bra came off, revealing a surprisingly nice set of boobs.

Now that she was topless, all sorts of possibilities emerged. I had her caress her tits playfully, squeezing the nipples hard and rolling them between thumb and fingers. By now, her face was wet with her own tears as the shame and humiliation hit home. To do this was bad enough, but to demean herself in front of her daughter. . . Sandra sobbed and I was forced to remind her that she was supposed to be sexy. I made her pull her panties into her slit and thrust her crotch at my face. It would have been easy to pull her close and just fuck her, of course—I doubt she would have resisted and risk me turning on Becky, but by then I’d seen enough. I had her discard the panties, then telling her to face the counter, I recuffed her hands behind her, led her to the chair and bound her to it using cord I’d bought at the hardware store.

She struggled for a second, and mother and daughter exchanged a brief gagged conversation. Now it was Becky’s turn.

The moment I started cutting the tape that bound Becky to the chair, Sandra knew what was going to happen. “Ummpphh?” she moaned weakly, pleading with her eyes. She was a good mother, after all, and she had just humiliated herself in front of me, believing that it would spare her daughter.

Silly cunt.

I turned to face her. “What did you think I was going to do, Sandra?” I asked, grinning through the mask. “I told you at the beginning that all you had to do was sit back and relax, and it would soon be over. It was you who decided to try and escape. Now you have to pay for that.”

I pulled Becky close so that I could unfasten her wrists. Unlike her mother, whose gag was locked in place, Becky could remove hers easily now that her hands were free. Pulling her close, I looked into her young. fear-filled eyes. In a low voice so as not to alarm mommy. I said, “I bet this thing is getting a little uncomfortable, isn’t it, Becky?” I ran a finger over her taped lips. She nodded miserably. “Well, that is a little unfortunate. You see, we’re going to make sure you and momma stay nice and quiet until we leave. After all, we wouldn’t want to disturb the neighbors, now, would we?” She looked at me with big, helpless eyes. “Anyway, you might be tempted to take it off, now that your hands are free. Well, don’t, because you’ll pay the next forfeit with that pretty little pussy of yours. Do I make myself clear?” She nodded. “Good girl. Now dance.”

Strangely, Becky seemed to take to this fairly easily and I wondered if she’d done this before, perhaps for a boyfriend or a few extra bucks? It was hard to say these days, since kids in clubs wear fashions and make moves that were the sole domain of pole dancers in my day. Still, she wiggled her little tush when ordered and could even do a reasonable bump and grind. Gradually the school uniform disappeared, to be replaced by a lacy little bra and panty number. That didn’t last long. Like her mother, I had her remove the bra slowly and fondle her breasts in front of me. By now she was sobbing, but her fear of the rod kept her ass moving in time to the music. I had her stick her ass almost in her mother’s face as she wiggled out of the panties. Sandra’s look of disgust and Becky’s eyes, wide and fearful above her taped mouth, were an instant turn on.

Now they were both naked, the family resemblance was even more apparent. Mother and daughter—the thought caught my imagination, kindling ideas that had been lurking there since I’d picked up Beth. I know that I said I preferred the young nubile Beth to her older mother, even if it was Jane who jilted me, but that also implied that I needed to make a choice since I could only take one or the other. Gradually, I had come to realize that I could do better than that. Now that her kids were grown up, Jane was vulnerable again, and while I had no intention of keeping her, the idea of having mother and daughter as my personal slaves had its attractions. On the way to New York I’d been planning things to do with my new slaves. Of course, it hadn’t escaped my attention that I could try some of the ideas out on Sandra and Becky.

As Becky writhed in front of her mother, I assessed my options. Getting them to do a little lesbian scene was obvious, but I decided to start small. Perhaps I’d get the girl to stroke her mother’s tits and work her way up to fingering the helpless woman. I began to regret not being able to ungag Becky and have her lick Sandra’s slit. Still, there were countless possibilities. I daydreamed a little as the girl continued to dance and when it happened it came as a complete surprise.

At first I didn’t notice, Becky’s bouncy little tits having 100% of my attention. Then in the distance I heard it, a persistent ringing that seemed out of place in the song track that was playing.

The front door bell.

Ordinarily it wouldn’t be a problem. The gags were tight enough to ensure that neither woman could be heard out front. Sandra was tied to a chair so she couldn’t do anything, but Becky. . .

The girl was smart. She realized the possibility a few seconds before my brain registered the danger and she took maximum advantage. In an instant she was at the kitchen door, showing the type of speed that had won her all those sports medals. Had the door been open, it would have been all over, but she had to stop to open it and that delay allowed me to gain a little ground. I almost reached her when she finally got it open and slipped into the hall. I followed in hot pursuit.

The next few breathless seconds are burned into my memory. Becky, naked but for gag and cuffs, was in full flight. Up ahead was the front door, the imposing silhouette of a man framed in the frosted glass panel. Next to the door were two smaller plain glass windows. I realized it was only a matter of time before he peered through those windows—how may times have you done something like that when you don’t get a response from the bell? If he looked in, it would all be over. I was also aware that JoJo was halfway down the stairs, following the standard orders I’d given her in case of persistent visitors. But Becky was fast and supercharged on adrenaline and fear. There was no way I could close the gap before she reached the door. There was the possibility that I could reach her before she got the man’s attention, but that was slim. I took a desperate gamble and dived at her legs. If I missed, she had a clear run to the door and I’d probably either have to kill the guy or spend the next twenty years inside.

Strangely, I think the size of her lead finally worked in my favor. She was confident enough to slow a little and tear the tape from her mouth. Desperately, I dived forward and heard her grunt of surprise as I impacted with her back. The door of the family room was open and some trick of my momentum that I hadn’t consciously planned caused us to fall into the room. Fortunately, there was no furniture nearby, and though we landed heavily there was less noise than I’d expected. We were winded for a second, so neither of us reacted when JoJo reached in and calmly closed the door. She was already opening the front door when Becky recovered. By that time, though, I had the sense of mind to crawl on top of her, so escape was impossible. I was still winded, however, and it gave her enough time to spit out the sodden towel. She took a deep breath and got ready to let rip with a scream.

There was no time to be subtle. I drove my fist solidly into her solar plexus, driving out all that hard-fought-for air in an explosive rush. Becky went from being a hard-bodied athlete to a rag doll in an instant. After that, it was easy to replace the towel—I even had time to refasten the cuffs, all while the chairman of the PTA was a few feet away from us, telling JoJo just what he expected Sandra to do before the next meeting.

Becky recovered from the punch surprisingly fast, but by then it was too late. She was pinned immobile by my weight, and my hand was covering her mouth and the towel gag. Slowly, I got my own wind back, wishing the guy would just hurry up and leave. He sounded like a typical PTA leader—loud and pompous. I had no doubt that Sandra could hear him in the kitchen. Her gag was too tight for her screams to be heard out here, but I started to worry about the bonds, especially those tying her to the chair. If she knocked something over or managed to get to somewhere he could see her, all of this would be for nothing.

Finally, the windbag left. A few minutes later, when I was sure he was gone, I dragged Becky back to the kitchen. Sandra looked up hopefully as I opened the door and pushed her daughter inside. I think the silly bitch had really believed they were about to be rescued. I smiled an evil little smile, and the woman looked down and trembled a little. She knew they were in trouble.

I dragged the girl over to my bag of provisions and dug around inside. She groaned when I pulled out a new roll of duct tape. Stupid slut, did she really think I’d leave her free after that? I’d been intending to strengthen the gag, anyway, and had come prepared. Out came the towel, to be replaced by this strange leather-covered sponge thing apparently used to polish cars. It was a tight fit, much larger than the towel, but as they say, if it doesn’t fit force it. Finally it was in so tightly that I doubt she could remove it without the use of her hands. I wasn’t going to find out; a thick layer of tape held it firmly in place. I used a bandage on top, squeezing her mouth closed around the sponge. A nipple test produced barely a whisper, although the pained look in her eyes showed it was far from comfortable. It served her right. And if she didn’t like that, she definitely wouldn’t like what was next. I strengthened her bonds by taping her elbows tightly together. She struggled a little and moaned her discomfort but I was satisfied. Not only was her movement greatly restricted, but her tits were thrust out nicely. I fondled them for a while, enjoying her tiny sounds of indignation. Her traitorous nipples had hardened on their own, giving me plenty to play with. I continued to play until she was starting to get a little breathless, then I pushed her down on the island.

When I seized an ankle, I was very surprised to hear Sandra start screaming. Of course, the sound wasn’t very loud but it still came as a shock. Becky was crying and Sandra kept shaking her head and pleading with her eyes. For a while I was puzzled, then I realized how it looked—here I was, pushing Becky onto the counter and spreading her legs. Sandra naturally assumed that I was about to fuck the girl. I could see how they could make that mistake.

I suppose I could have defused the situation by explaining what I was going to do, but to be honest they were pissing me off. So instead I threatened to take the rod to Becky if she didn’t stop struggling. The girl stopped, face tight with fear as I tied some cord around her left ankle to the sound of her mother’s frantic mewings in the background. I think they finally realized she was in no danger when I tied the cord to the other ankle—the short length of the cord would have made rape very difficult, although it did make an excellent hobble. Becky’s athletic feats were over for the moment. I ran some rope around her neck and tied it off to the sink, then turned to Mommy.

Sandra had been a good little girl, but I had dark plans for her daughter and needed to keep her occupied for a time. It would be interesting to see how she’d react to what I was about to do. With a smile, I pulled the chair and the struggling woman back into the utility room. I’d tied her ankles to the chair legs but had left most of her body free—now she’d see why. First, I taped her elbows like I’d done with Becky and was pleased to see that I got a similar response. Then I tied her wrists to the bar at the back of the chair. I’d left some slack and I think that puzzled her. Then, I tied a length of cord around her middle then passed the free end between her legs. I don’t think she had any idea what I was doing. She seemed really confused when I tied some knots in the cord near her naked pussy. She must have had a sheltered life, but she soon got the point when I pulled the cord tight. The utility room had a pulley arrangement for an indoor drying line and I ran the rest of the cord through it. It was simple to pull the cord tight, forcing Sandra to lift her ass off the chair or be cut in two.

Her body strained as I tied off the loose end to the drier. Now she could see some of my devilish plan. The cord went between her ass cheeks, then passed though her mound, pressing the knots I’d tied hard against her clit. She was forced to arch her back and hold her ass off the chair or the pressure would become too much. She whimpered under the stress, but I still wasn’t finished. Telling her to shut her eyes. I sealed them closed with surgical tape, effectively blindfolding her. She “looked” around, disoriented, trying to figure out what I’d do next and shivering with a strange mixture of fear and desire.

Stepping back, I looked at the taut, helpless woman moaning as she tried in vain to find a comfortable position. Next were a couple of clothes pins from the line, quickly clipped onto her erect little nipples. She wailed and tried to shake them loose but that only caused the knots to rub against her crotch. In a couple of seconds she was breathless and the little room was filled with the smell of hot pussy. As a final touch I turned on the drier. Its noise would drown her cries and deafen her to sounds from outside, and its vibrations were transmitted by the rope to the knots pressing on her sensitive clit. By the time I turned to leave she was already moaning and bucking the rope. I smiled to myself. She would be more than ready by the time I returned.

I returned to the daughter who was trying to find a comfortable position on the island. I cut the rope around her neck and pulled her close. She looked up at me, white with fear. I let my hand wander down to the thick thatch of fur covering her pussy. Almost all of Doc’s girls are shaved; these days, I’m not used to girls with pubic hair. I ran my fingers lightly through it, letting her get a little of the sensation before playing with her clit in earnest. She sighed and her breath became ragged.

“You know Becky, I did warn you what would happen to you if you touched the gag?” I murmured.

She stiffened.

“I mean I did make it clear and all?” I asked, my voice sounding puzzled. “I mean there was no room for confusion?”

Sobbing into the gag, she shook her head, though I couldn’t tell if this was in answer to the question or her begging for mercy.

“You knew that your little pussy was on the line if you disobeyed, but you did it anyway,” I scolded her. “Now, there are only a couple of ways I can interpret that—either you want it real bad, or you’re

not taking me fucking seriously!” I felt her body shiver as I shouted the last word directly into her ear, then continued in a more normal tone, “Question is, which is it? You hot for a fucking, bitch?”

She shook her head.

“Then I think you’re not taking me seriously. I think we’d better correct that right here and now.”

She moaned. I reached into my pocket and withdrew the dildo. “My friend found this in your drawer.”

Becky stiffened, a look of fear and embarrassment spreading over her face. “I think this answers the virgin question, don’t you think?” I said.

She nodded miserably.

“I could just fuck you here and now. I know I’d enjoy it, and you might, too. The alternative is this.”

Without warning I swung the curtain rod, catching her perfectly between the legs. She staggered, the pain glowing in her eyes. The scream was swallowed by the new gag and only a faint mewing emerged. For a second I thought she would faint but instead she cringed, pulling her legs together and starting to cry in earnest.

I waited for her to calm down, then hit her with the whammy. “There are another 29 of those to go,” I murmured. “If you cross your legs, I’ll tie them open and give you another ten for your trouble.” I paused, letting her consider the situation. Genitals have so many nerve endings, the pain must have been unimaginable. “Of course, I could fuck you instead. . .”

“Ummph. Mhhph?” she moaned behind the gag. She nodded energetically, but I noticed her eyes were looking at the ground.

“Personally, I’d rather whip you,” I said clinically. “I think it teaches the right kind of lesson, but who knows? Perhaps you could persuade me otherwise.”

It took a couple of moments for her to figure out that I wanted her to beg me to fuck her. The gag was there for the duration so if she wanted to avoid the whip she was going to have to beg some other way.

Slowly, she started to grind her hips against my thigh, making sexy little mewing noises behind her gag. She gave me bedroom eyes, or at least what a teenager thinks are bedroom eyes. I encouraged her and she responded by sliding her body down mine, making sure her firm young tits pressed against my chest. Her nipples were hard, I noticed, and her breathing came in gasps again. She slid up and down a couple of times, wiggling her hips suggestively, then she did that little thing of tilting her head down and then looking up with big eyes. For a sixteen-year-old, she sure knew how to push a guy’s buttons.

It took some effort, but in the end I shook my head. “No I don’t think so.”

A look of disappointment and dread flashed across her face. She started trembling again.

“You know,” I said conversationally, “it can’t be easy being big sister to a girl like Amy. I bet you’ve had to give up a lot of things over the years. I suppose you’ve always played second fiddle to her for your mom’s attention too.”

She nodded, a puzzled look replacing the dread.

“Yes sir, looking after a sister with special needs. All those little sacrifices. I bet there were times when you just wished she’d go away.”

She shook her head, fear again in her eyes. Fear for Amy and where this conversation might be leading.

I reached down and rubbed her swollen little clit. “You know, growing up the way you did, there have got to have been a number of things you didn’t get to do because you were her sister. You know, good things you missed out on just because Amy was your sister?” I smiled down at her confused face. “Well, if you ever felt that life was unfair, just remember that fate’s a funny thing. I’m not going to fuck you or whip your pussy. You see, for once you’re going to miss out on something bad, just because Amy is your sister.”

The tension drained out of her like water from a sieve. Silently, the girl began to cry.

I decided it was time to separate mommy and Becky, just to keep them out of mischief. Using some more tape, I blindfolded Becky. Happy to have escaped the whipping, she proved most cooperative. Leaving her on the island, I closed the utility room door on the bucking, moaning Sandra and quickly cleaned up the room. Satisfied that everything would appear normal to someone looking in, I hoisted Becky over my shoulder and took her upstairs. Had we met Amy, I had a good excuse worked out about about Becky and I playing a game, but luckily the little girl was still napping.

In her room, I bound Becky spread eagle to her bed. The minute she was on the bed she started struggling, seeing what this allowed me to do. I’d reassured her in the kitchen that I wasn’t going to fuck her, but I knew she didn’t really trust me. Or maybe she was looking forward to it? Teenaged girls can get some pretty strange ideas in their heads. In any case, the new cord I’d bought from the hardware store proved more than a match for her, and soon she was helplessly spreadeagled on the white sheets. Her fine athletic body was mine to play with, so I did for a while. Her breasts were small but pert, nipples a dark chocolatey brown. Of course I had to do a nipple test to check the gag was still secure, and it only seemed right to rub them better afterwards.

Looking down at her taped eyes, I realized I could have a little more fun. I deliberately undid my belt and zipper, allowing her imagination to take full effect. Blindfolded, she could guess what was about to happen, but I had something more devious in mind.

I signaled JoJo to come over. Pointing at the helpless girl, I whispered, “You will pleasure this slave with your mouth. She is to be kept on the edge but not allowed to cum. Is that clear?”

JoJo nodded obediently. It was a common request that formed part of her training. Becky gave a muffled squeal at the first touch of JoJo’s tongue, but soon she was groaning into her gag and attempting to force her cunt into the slave’s face. Periodically JoJo would switch her attention to breasts or thighs, allowing the sensation to diminish a little. In just a few minutes Becky began to experience the sweet agony she would be in for the next few hours.

I looked at my watch and wondered where Doc was. I was starting to feel jumpy as the day moved on and the chance of visitors increased. Silently, I crossed the room and stood by the side of the window. Outside, kids were coming home from school, and the room gradually filled with their squeals and shouts. I knew Becky could hear them but I doubted she could do anything even if she wasn’t gagged. Looking again, I saw a number of older kids dressed in the same uniform that Becky had worn this morning. I glanced back. Becky tugged desperately against the ropes, arching her back and trying to force her damp pussy further into JoJo’s mouth. I looked into the streets, wondering what her schoolmates would think if they could see her like this.

Then I smiled. I had intended to take photos, after all. Maybe I should shoot them both up with the rest of Doc’s will suppresser and have them act out a lesbian scene for me. Finally, I shook my head—it was tempting, but all I really wanted to do was leave them alone and get out of here. I listened again to Becky’s strangled moans and felt a rumble in my pants. Well, perhaps that wasn’t all I wanted.

Satisfied that the teenager was under control, I went downstairs. I recovered Sandra from the utility room by cutting the crotch rope and dragging the chair into the living room. I figured we might have callers soon and I wanted to change the message on the answering machine to discourage personal visits. As I started to set up, I took a good look at her for the first time. Sandra was still quite young, early to mid thirties, so she must have been very young when she had Becky. Her figure had recovered well from two children and the sight of her bound naked to a chair was doing wonderful things to my dick. Gently, I reached out and stroked my gloved hand over her exposed nipple. She stiffened, a faint tremble fluttering through her breast. The nipples hardened immediately and she groaned. Then, bending down, she rubbed her gagged mouth against my hand.

This suited me fine. She could hardly record a new message with a gag in her mouth. Still, I made it sound like I was doing her a favor. “OK, I’ll take it out, but it goes back when I say,” I growled. “Try anything stupid and you won’t be the only one to suffer, understand?”

She nodded, so I removed the gag but left it dangling around her neck. She licked her dry lips. “Where’s Becky?”

“Upstairs, keeping my friend company,” I said. “I decided it was a good idea to separate you, after last time.”

She licked her lips again. “Why did you make us strip?” she asked nervously. There was a tension in the air, a nervousness that I found a great turn-on. Working for Doc, I can have my pick of young pussy. These days, most of the girls I fuck are half my age. But there was something about seeing an older woman helpless like this that did something to me. Perhaps it was because she could have been the girl I dated in high school.. Perhaps, surrounded by plenty, my palate had got a little jaded. Perhaps a change is as good as a rest.

I leaned in and kissed her neck. She flinched a little. “You tell me,” I said as I continued to nibble the nape. She gasped a little and I watched as her nipples started to harden.

“Do...do you intend to. . .rape us?” she gasped. I moved up to her ear, flicking my tongue against the lobe, feeling the heat radiating from her naked body. It amused me—mother and daughter, both turned on and helpless. I decided to play some more.

“Haven’t decided,” I said, teasing. “Though that daughter of yours is quite a temptation. It’s been a while since I’ve had pussy as fresh as that.”

I watched her stiffen, her worse fears confirmed. I expected her to get indignant, but as I brought my hand up to caress her breast I felt her body tremble. “Y. . .you can have me, but please leave my daughter alone.”

“What do you mean, have you?” I asked, gently stroking her inner thigh. Blindfolded by the tape, she was unable to predict when and where I’d touch next. As I brushed against her belly I got an involuntary moan and her body stiffened. I gently ran my gloved fingers through her bush and found it wet. “So damp, so soon. What was it you were saying?”

She fought to focus, “I. . .oh. . .I’ll fuck you willingly. . .just leave her alone. Please?” The last word was a plea, but for what I wasn’t sure. Was it the mother protecting her young or a horny woman being teased to distraction? I meant to find out.

“And suppose I don’t like it willingly?” I asked, rolling one of her nipples in my gloved fingers. She gasped and sucked in a huge breath, intent on getting her offer out before she lost her will completely.

“Then I’ll do whatever you want, resist, not resist. I’ll sign a statement saying I’m doing it willingly. That it’s not rape. You could use it in court if they catch you. . .oh. . .please.“

I took one of her breasts in one hand, fingered her exposed pussy with the other. “Let me tell you what I think. I think you want to be fucked. You may think you’re selflessly sacrificing yourself for your daughter, but you want it don’t you?”

She gasped, but wouldn’t say anything.

“All you have to do is ask. To make it simple, I promise not to rape your daughter no matter what your decision. If you want it, just ask. If not, just say no.” I realized that I’d placed her in a dilemma; before, she could always rationalize her needs by saying that she’d surrendered to save her daughter. Now she had to face the truth.

“Please. . .?” she moaned. I upped the tempo on my teasing.

“All you have to say is please fuck me.”

She threw her head back, head rolling on her shoulders. “Please. . .fuck. . .me.”

Bingo. I’d been intent in having at least one of these cunts beg me to fuck her before Doc got here. So the winner had been Sandra. Of course, I’d make her pay a high price for it, and I always had her daughter for seconds.

Cutting Sandra free of the chair, I laid her on the couch. Her hands were still bound and the gag hung round her neck in easy reach. I started where I’d left off, teasing and nibbling here and there. Her skin was hot and salty and I took my tongue on the grand tour. Her hardened nipples, still so sensitive after the clothes pins, seemed especially vulnerable. I spent a while sucking and licking while she squirmed and begged. Then I moved lower, attacking spots at random and watching her increasing arousal. She was wiggling with anticipation when my tongue first danced over her clit. She sucked in a deep breath and for a second I readied myself in case she was about to scream, but at my next touch she let out a powerful moan. I knew at that moment that she was mine. Her body trembled as it betrayed her mind, then her mind was washed away in a buildup of pure pleasure, probably the first pleasure she’d gotten from a man in a long, long time.

I whispered things in her ear, things she had to say if she wanted me to continue. They were horrible degrading things, things members of the PTA never say, and she repeated them happily, willing to sound like a whore if it got her a little closer to that orgasm. I got her to shout them, unconcerned about the neighbors. “Oh please, Master, fuck this whore!” wasn’t quite the same as “Help, murder!” after all. When I thought she was ready, I slipped on a rubber and pushed my way in.

It was. . .different. Eight years of young, tight pussy can spoil a man, and of course she hadn’t been taught those little Thai whore tricks that Doc’s girls know. Still, she had a certain enthusiasm, following my lead and screaming obscenities as I fucked her brains out. She came three times, each more powerful than the last, before I let myself come in her cunt, filling the rubber until I thought it would burst. Different, but definitely good.

As we lay there afterwards, gasping, I thought about Doc again and wondered where the hell he was. If he wasn’t here in half an hour, I figured I’d look in on young Becky. Of course, I’d promised her mother I wouldn’t rape her, but I had no doubts that the girl would be out of her mind by now, willing to beg anyone or anything to fuck her. And if she begs, then it’s hardly rape. I grinned and looked down at Sandra, still clutching me as she panted in satisfaction.

Who knows, I might even let her watch. . .