Chapter 7: Sleepwalking on Bourbon Street

‘Putting Caroline away,’ proved to be the hardest thing I’d done so far.

She was hot and had been denied an orgasm for too long already.

I could smell the musky aroma of her damp cunt even through the confines of the chastity briefs.

She continued to look at me pleadingly as I lead her towards the cell and when I stopped to pull back the bolts, she rubbed her leather covered crotch up and down my leg invitingly. As the briefs transmitted no sensation to her covered cunt I can only assume that it was for my benefit.

In any case it was working! It took every ounce of willpower in me not to take her then and there.

Instead I somehow forced her inside and fastened her to the wire. She made a little moaning sound behind the gag as I turned to leave.

“Soon enough sweetheart,” I managed to say though my head was pounding, “We’ll see to that real soon.”

I spent about an hour checking the papers she’d signed. Most were trivial, notes to institutions informing them of address changes, postcards to friends. Some were more important, a note to the police about her stolen car, the transfer of her bank account to Seattle.

Although many and varied the one thing that they had in common was that they formed what an investigator would call an “audit trail.”

It wasn’t perfect but it was the best I could do.

The big problem was that I couldn’t do anything that involved her turning up in person.

Things like applying for a Washington state drivers license would need a woman to stand in line for a couple of hours. Of course in fiction it is easy, the evil organization of white slavers have entire departments dedicated to erasing “volunteers” past lives.

Female accomplices are ten a penny, all officials can be blackmailed or bribed.

Reality though was less perfect, still I was happy with what I had achieved.

There was now a large body of evidence which pointed to her having moved to a run down suburb of Seattle.

The area was well known as a red light district.

The sort of place a pretty young thing could disappear without trace.

Once I was finished I placed a call to one of my editors. Just how badly did he need the latest news on the new Windows release?

Obviously enough to pay for a flight to Seattle, an extra couple of calls to sign up for a Microsoft seminar and it was done. A legitimate reason to go to the north west and spread my little seeds.

Still it left me with a couple of days to get ready, so I busied myself with a couple of minor articles whilst watching Caroline get steadily more frustrated.

After a while I found myself just watching the screen and daydreaming.

One image that had always appealed to me was of the slave girl as lapdog.

Something like a harem slave sitting patiently at her master’s feet ready to serve his every whim.

I’d had a little leather outfit made for just that purpose; a small push-up bra that left the nipples free for clamps matched with a tight pair of side laced bikini briefs that barely covered anything.

A leather bondage belt was connected to a number of strong thin chains which in turn were fastened to wrists and ankles by small gilded metal cuffs.

A matching metal collar and leash completed the bondage elements though a metal and leather gag could be added if necessary.

I looked at my watch, it was about an hour before the late screening of the X Files.

How nice it would be, I mused, to watch the show with a slave at my feet ready to serve me if the need arose. If she was good I may allow her to sleep chained to the foot of my bed. The image was so appealing I found myself hard again. With some regrets I turned off the monitor and reasserted my self control. Then I started to make preparations.

First up was a shower. I’d only washed Caroline the night before but the kind of things we did involved a lot of sweat and other excretions. I remembered her musky odor, by now she’d need to shower again.

To save time I laid out the slavegirl outfit in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

Next came suitable music.

I’m basically a Rock man, the Stones, Kiss, and Rush are my music of choice, but while we were together I’d done the “New Man” thing and pretended to like Sam’s music. Sam was into classical, or at least so she claimed, but I’ve always had the suspicion that this was more for show than anything.

I’ve noticed that models like to appear cultured, I suspect that it’s an attempt to dump the bimbo image they get in the tabloids. She had bought a “Three Tenors” style disk of great operatic love songs that she used to play during sex.

I smiled, if Caroline was as hot as I believed then the shower could prove interesting. I put the CD into the machine then went to collect the slave.

When I entered she seemed awfully keen, probably because she thought I’d come to fuck her and end the frustration.

I let her keep thinking this while I removed the cuffs and strapped her arms behind her. Then I unlocked the chastity outfit.

By now she was all aglow and opened her legs expectantly. For a girl three days into a kidnapping to be so keen to be fucked by her captor is perhaps a little odd. Yet Caroline seemed to have had very little sexual pleasure before I took her, and had been in a constant state of sexual frustration since. I looked into her eyes, saw the hunger and knew then that she was starting to become addicted.

A few more frustrating weeks in the chastity outfit, unable to relieve herself and with her only pleasure coming when I decided and she would be broken.

For now I just smiled as she thrust her pussy towards me and mewed behind the gag.

“Not yet slave,” I said gently stroking her breast and finding the nipple hard and erect, “I don’t fuck smelly bitches. You need a bath first.”

I could tell that wasn’t what she needed NOW, but she bowed her head in acknowledgment. Naked but for gloves, boots and gag she waited patiently while I attached the leash and strapped on the blindfold.

I didn’t bother with a hobble so it proved a quick and easy journey to the upstairs bathroom.

Once again I removed the boots and blindfold but kept her gloved and gagged.

Then I padlocked the leash to the ring before stripping off myself.

I punched a button on my remote control and the hidden speakers started the buildup to a classic operatic aria. Then the tenor joined in his voice full of passion and heartbreaking emotion.

I started small, deftly shampooing her hair as I had the night before, listening as she moaned with pleasure. All through this she was happy, no one in her situation would turn down a bath.

After suitable warnings I unstrapped the gag so that I could remove all the old makeup from her face. She looked at me as I gently stroked her cheek.

“Please...” She whispered the edge of desperation in her voice.

An idea came to me and I drew her naked body close feeling her hard nipples dig into my chest.

“Soon,” I said.

She didn’t fuss when I put the gag back. She seemed strangely subdued, both horny and melancholy. Time had come to warm her up. My roving hand moved on, gently stroking and caressing her helpless body. I cleaned parts in a random order, teasing her with my touch, listening as she moaned and caught her breath.

Finally my hand drifted down, finding her pussy warm and very damp as I gently cleaned it.

There was the suggestion of a fine stubble on her pubis and I wondered about the possibility of home electrolysis.

I was careful that as I cleaned her pussy of the days accumulated juices I didn’t up the sensation to a level she could find useful.

She moaned in frustration as the heat in her crotch increased.

I unfastened her elbows and started washing her back.

She made a little mewing sound and as my hands slid forwards to caress her breasts and their erect nipples, hers drifted down to gently brush against my balls and the insides of my thighs.

The message seemed clear, I wasn’t the only one who could tease.

I let my hand hover round her abdomen then slide back to the silken folds between her legs. I was rewarded by the slick touch of her latex covered fingers on the head of my cock.

Then we traded, finger on nub for thumb on head.

It seemed like masturbation by proxy but it was also a big turn on.

I soaped her down using handfuls of shower gel to make her body wet and slippery.

She started to slide her body against mine making sure that the outside of her thigh slid up and down my steadily mounting erection.

I gasped and started to caress her, one hand cupped her breast while the other slid down to finger her hot cunt.

I started to nibble her neck between the gag strap and her shoulder.

She moaned then arched her back, fingers straining against the single imprisoning strap.

I gasped as she started to work on my balls and thighs, carefully avoiding the shaft, denying me an orgasm as long as I denied hers.

Above it all the tenor sang of loves lost and hearts broken in a mounting crescendo of emotion.

Through it all I dimly wondered how long we could stay like that, how far we could push it while still keeping the other from release.

Part of my mind had decided to take her right then and there against the shower wall, I even upped the pace a little, listening to her excited yelps as she came closer and closer to the edge.

Then dimly I became aware of something else in the environment, something noisy, insistent, something cutting through even the vibrant music.

It was the phone, I suppose it was to be expected after all we were in the shower.

Part of my brain said leave it, let the machines pick it up, but they didn’t and the ringing continued as insistent as ever.

It says a lot about the power a ringing phone has over us that I got out of the shower.

Caroline gave a little scream and when I looked at her she tried to say something.

Too well gagged to be intelligible she shook her head, thrust her shaved cunt towards me and wiggled her hips.

It was an invitation good in any language but the little dictator kept ringing.

In the end I threw on a robe and squelched off to the handset in the upstairs hall.

I mean, there I was about to have sex with a beautiful, naked and helpless girl, I could have let it ring until the guy at the other end got the message and rang off.

Yet I didn’t; I didn’t because I am an idiot.

The idiot picked up the phone. “Hello?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line then a hesitant female voice asked, “Mr. Thomas?”

I was about to yell no, tell the stupid bitch she had the wrong number and slam down the phone, then I suddenly remembered that I’d used the name Thomas when I’d left the message for Vicky the photographic model.

“Yes that’s right, is that Vicky?” I asked as calmly as any guy could with a raging hard on.

She stammered out a yes, though it was hard to hear over the operatic background music. I realized that I’d left the remote behind.

“Thought I remembered your voice from the answering machine,” I lied. “Look I’m sorry for the noise, can’t reach the stereo from here.”

“I was w ... wondering if you still needed a model. I realize it’s been a couple of days since you called but I’ve been away...”

She seemed apologetic, weak and unsure.

“No I still need a model,” I said wanting this over as soon as possible.

She seemed relieved but even in my ardor alarm bells were already starting to ring. “Vicky, sorry to ask this luv,” I said, switching into classic Pearson, “But you do seem a little nervous. Do you have much experience?”

At first she tried to bluff it out. Then her confidence failed and she twittered on for a while. I really didn’t have time for this but the explanation she blurted out I gathered that the camera shop where I had found her name did portrait and ID pictures.

The photographer had persuaded her to try modeling and had suggested that she leave her number.

I was her first call.

To be honest, I was tempted to turn her down, but she looked so much like Caroline and there was so much I could do with her unwitting help.

So patiently I spun her a line.

I was an amateur trying to make a break into the pro circuit.

I would need a model at various times and various places to take shots for my portfolio.

She must be willing to appear in a variety of shots, in various outfits and perhaps nude.

The nature of the work would be experimental as I would be trying out different films and effects.

Some of it wouldn’t make sense.

I would pay her by the hour, irrespective of the number of shots or what they entailed but I promised that I would give her copies of some shots for her private use.

She seemed pleased and a little surprised, to be honest she wasn’t a great looker, though like Caroline she was probably better after a makeover, and I think it did her ego good to know she could be paid for her looks. Her gratitude bubbled out, I was waiting to politely end the call and get back to my hot slave when suddenly I got a weird creepy feeling, a kind of sixth sense warning of danger.

To this day I don’t know what it was, though I suppose I could have heard something subconsciously.

I managed to tell Vicky that I had another call and I had just hit the hold button when the screaming started.

The closed bathroom door was at one end of the corridor, the phone at the other I have no doubt that some land speed records were broken in the next few seconds as I raced towards the noise.

Caroline was cutting loose but good.

I bounced open the door to find her half out of the shower one hand holding the still attached leash to stop it pulling tight as she lent forward, the other hand questing for the door latch.

The situation had come close to a complete disaster.

The strap that bound her wrists was lying in the shower, the ball gag was pulled down around her neck, only the presence of the padlocked collar and leash had stopped her from getting completely free.

How had it happened so fast? I’d kept her bound for the last few days without her budging a single bond.

One thing was clear I needed to reassert control fast!

Surprisingly she stopped screaming the moment I entered the room.

“Please...” She said.

I said nothing just grabbed wrists and turned her to face the wall. She struggled and it proved hard to hold her, the gloves seemed, if anything, slicker than usual. Turning her to face me again I raised my hand to slap her face. She whimpered and cringed and the fight left her.

Leaving her for the moment I reached down for the discarded strap.

It was then I noticed the large blob of blue gel in the bottom of the shower.

Retrieving the strap I examined the gloves as she held them up to protect her face and body. Then I realized what a complacent fool I’d been.

I had become so used to her being so cooperative that I’d started to cut corners.

Locked in the cell she had worn tight leather cuffs, but these were expensive and the finish easily damaged by water so before the shower I had swapped them for two basic leather straps, one at the wrists one at the elbows.

When I had started to wash her back I’d removed the elbow strap to allow for access. Then things had become more heated so I hadn’t put it back.

When the phone rang I’d just left, closing the door behind me so that her little gagged noises wouldn’t be heard.

In short I had left her alone, unobserved and with only one strap holding her.

She had managed to squeeze shower gel on to her latex gloves near the wrist and use the lubrication to work her hands free.

The collar, gag and leash were all padlocked but she had managed to roll the gag out of her mouth and scream to alert the caller at the other end of the line.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, I had come within seconds of being caught.

Silently I gathered her wrists turned her towards the wall and re-strapped her arms at wrist and elbow.

She didn’t resist, seeming more than happy that I hadn’t hit her.

After the arms were done I used the shower to clean the gel off of her body and gloves thought to be honest I doubted she could slip her hands free with her elbows clinched.

Next I released the leash and forced her down onto the shower mat.

Using the belts from the bathrobes I bound her legs together and hog-tied her wrists to her ankles.

Then I went to the medicine cabinet and got some sticky plaster, a bandage and few pads of cotton.

First I replaced the ballgag fastening it tighter than I ever had before pulling the ball further into her mouth.

She complained, it probably hurt like hell, but I didn’t care.

Next I forced the pads between her lips in front of the ball until her mouth was fully packed and used the sticky plaster to hold it in place.

A nice tight Ace bandage wrapped tightly over the top and she was gagged as well as I could manage at the moment.

It was important that Vicky heard from me as soon as possible so with Caroline rolling on the bathroom floor in plain sight I went back to the phone.

“Sorry Vicky love, you have no idea how some people carry on.” I said looking at Caroline. My slave quaked and tried to say something. Vicky seemed pleased that I hadn’t hung up on her and we made plans for the next day.

All the time I was aware of Caroline struggling a few yards away.

The gag proved very effective and her desperate screams became muffled moans easily drowned out by Domingo in full voice.

Vicky never once commented on any sounds (though I had a good explanation ready if she did.)

I signed off and walked back towards my slave.

“She didn’t hear a thing, I put her on hold just before you started screaming.”

Caroline looked up in despair.

By then, she already realized that she’d failed.

After all I’d made her listen helplessly as I completed the call but now was the worse prospect.

Now came the punishment.

I released her feet and helped her up using a towel to dry her. I was perhaps a little rougher than I strictly needed to be.

She stood to attention doing nothing that would anger me further.

Then the music seemed to seize her. I don’t think she knew Italian and there was nothing in her tape collection that suggested that she was a big opera fan.

Perhaps something in the man’s mournful song to his lost love reminded her of a freedom denied. In any case she started to sob, though I missed it at first, the gag muffled all sound and the water dripping from her hair washed away her tears.

In the end it was the gentile quaking of her shoulders that gave it away.

I turned her around and looked into her eyes.

I’d expected to see anger, sorrow, something I could understand but whatever demons she had were playing games behind those pretty blue eyes, and all I could see was pain, deeper and older than I expected.

She didn’t struggle when I replaced the boots and hobbled her, she must have realized that she’d blown it and there seemed no point in compounding things.

I got dressed with her chained to the top of the stairs the phone just out of reach.

Strangely her escape attempt had made the erection worse.

I don’t know if it was the danger of discovery or just the excitement of the chase.

I really wished I could set that talented mouth to work but I wanted her to wear the uncomfortable gag a little longer.

I checked the building security logs while I dressed.

During the 30 Seconds or so of her screaming there were no intruders, there wasn’t even a car passing the end of the drive.

Satisfied I blindfolded her and led her back to the dungeon. Once there I chained her to one of the overhead rings and prepared her for punishment.

Modern bondage photography is good, but the scenes seem far too posed, the women either too perfect of too ordinary. Over the past few months while “researching” the kidnapping I’d come across a number of photo’s from the 1950’s taken by artists like Irvin Klaw and John Willie.

I suppose part of the attraction had been the concentration on fetish wear especially the high heels, though the fact that the models tended to be “resting” 1950’s B movie actresses probably brought back memories of my beloved Republic serials. In any case two things from these photo’s had influenced my plans for Caroline.