Chapter 1

After the disaster, they had to evacuate the students from the college dormitory. Tiffany arrived home, unexpectedly, and let herself into the house. “Mom? Dad?” she called. There was no answer. They must be home, she thought, because the car was in the driveway, and another, too. She looked in the kitchen and living room, toured the upstairs bedrooms. There was no one there. Then she decided to look in the basement.

When she opened the playroom door, she was startled to the point where she couldn’t move. She saw her dad, tied to one of the supporting columns which held up the main floor beam.

Suddenly, a cloth soaked in ether was held over Tiffany’s face. The more she tried to scream, the more she breathed in the anesthetic, until she passed out.

When she awoke, she was hanging upside down, with her legs wide spread and her ankles bound to big screw eyes set into the joists of the floor above. Her hands, hanging freely down, brushed the concrete floor, and when she opened her eyes, she saw she was looking at her father.

“Dad, what’s going on?” she said.

“You weren’t supposed to find out, Tiff, darling,” he replied.

“Explain to me. Why am I hanging here?”

A deep masculine voice behind her answered: “Didn’t you ever wonder why your father got three promotions in less than two years? He and your mother agreed to allow me to act out my fantasies, and you got to attend college. I paid for it.”

“Who are you?”

“I can’t afford having you identify me. First, you must agree to keep this secret. Otherwise...”

She heard her mother, somewhere behind her: “Tiffany, say you will.”

“Mom, are you all right?” Tiffany said, her voice loud and trembling.

“Yes, Tiffany, my dear. But you had better agree to keep this secret.”

“Say yes, Tiff,” said her father, evenly.

“Promise the man,” advised her mother.

“OK, I promise to keep this secret,” said Tiffany.

“A wise decision,” said the man, as he stepped in front of her. The first thing Tiffany saw was shiny leather boots, and then, as she looked upward, for her head hung at about the level of the man’s knees, she saw a rather handsome man, thirty or forty, dressed in some kind of uniform, like a State Trooper, or a Nazi. “Your cooperation, my dear, will be rewarded. Tell me, Tiffany, do you love your mother?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You wouldn’t want to see her suffer.”

“No, of course not.”

“Well, then, my dear, in order to spare your mother more pain than she expects, you will have to suffer some pain, yourself. But, of course, you love your mother, so you will suffer gladly, to spare her, is that not so? Just as your father suffers, by having to watch his wife, and now his daughter, subjected to punishment for his sake.”

Tiffany did not know what to say, so she said nothing. Her blood was rushing to her head, and she couldn’t really believe this was happening to her. Could it be some sort of nightmare?

Reaching up with a razor blade, the man began to cut the outer seam of Tiffany’s jeans. “Hey!” she shouted, “These are my favorite pair.”

“Do be quiet, Tiffany,” said her mother. “I’ll buy you new ones.”

When the man had slit the cloth all the way to the waistband, he began on the other leg. When he cut through the second side, there was nothing to hold the jeans on, and they fell to the floor, leaving Tiffany’s legs naked, her private place exposed, except for the skimpy cotton panties she wore. She had chosen high-cut panties, with just a thong in the back, between her lower cheeks, so that there would be no panty line showing through her tight jeans. She had never imagined that anyone would see them. As the jeans fell off, the tails of Tiffany’s men’s shirt fell down, covering her face and leaving her middle bare. She kept thinking to herself that she should be embarrassed, but the whole experience was too exciting.

She felt the shirt being dragged over her head and arms, and she put her chin against her chest, looking almost wonderingly at her ample breasts, almost falling out of her bra, since she was hanging upside down. And then the man pulled her bra off, so that she was naked, but for her running shoes and panties. The man reached up to the ceiling and pulled off her shoes and socks, taking a moment to tickle her feet, which made her wriggle. Her breasts jiggled when she moved.

She looked at her father, bound to the post just a few feet away, and realized that he probably hadn’t seen her bare breasts since she was about thirteen. He seemed entranced by what he saw, her swaying breasts, and then, as the man cut away her skimpy panties, a full view of her pubic area. Never, she thought, had she showed her lush pubic hair to any family member; she should feel embarrassed, shouldn’t she? Somehow, the excitement, the fear, being helpless in the hands of this strange man made the embarrassment of being naked seem inconsequential.

The man in the uniform tied Tiffany’s wrists together with a soft cloth strip and lifted, tying it to a hook on one of the joists overhead, pulling her body upward, making her bend at the hips. Well, at least that relieved the discomfort of having the blood rush to her head. She now hung, rump forward, with her legs spread wide apart and her crotch naked, utterly exposed and vulnerable. When she raised her eyes from her own genital region, she found she was looking at her mother’s.

There, before her eyes, her mother was spread out naked on the ping pong table. Her legs formed a wide vee, either side of her hairless pubic area; they were straight and taut, tied with the sort of strong rubber ropes truckers use to secure a tarp. Her arms, also, were taut and spread. Like Tiffany, she had big breasts, but age had lessened their elasticity, and they lay spread out on the mother’s chest like pillows on a bed. The mother’s tummy was no longer flat. Tiffany saw a gentle bulge above her mother’s mount of Venus, and her belly button was deeply indented, the result of a thickening of the sub-cutaneous fat around it. Still, for age forty-something, she was a handsome woman.

“Slave Two,” the man said, “you may watch what happens to Slave One, your mother. Then we will attend to you.”

Tiffany watched, with horror and fascination, as the man ran his hands over her mother’s body and stroked her thighs. He carried a riding crop, and from time to time he would poke her with it, pushing her breast from side to side, or sliding the leather loop on the end over her mother’s hairless vulva. While her mother was tied so tightly she could barely move, it seemed to Tiffany that she shivered when the man touched her womanly parts. Tiffany turned her head and saw her father, unable to interfere, watching intently as his wife was handled by this other man. It was bizarre, unreal.

The man had a good supply of rubber goods and a variety of metal and plastic objects.

He began by touching the mother’s right nipple, stroking it, until it became erect. Then, when he had something to hold on to, he pulled her nipple up and slipped a rubber noose around it, which he drew tight. The noose attached to a hook-ended elastic rope. When the other hook was hooked over another of the many screw eyes in the joists overhead, Tiffany saw her mother’s breast drawn up in a tall cone, contrasting with the other breast, which still lay spread out upon her chest. Tiffany thought it must hurt, but her mother didn’t say anything.

The man repeated the treatment with the other breast. Tiffany was reminded of the “missile nose cone” bras she had seen in old pictures from the Fifties.

Next, the strange man wrapped stretchy rubber tubing around the mother’s breasts, starting at chest wall and wrapping upward in a spiral. That made each breast tall and cylindrical. The flesh around the areola bulged outward, like the glans of a giant penis, and it turned pink, as the pressure of the rubber trapped blood in the breast.

The man then took rubber straps and placed them around the mother’s thighs, high up, pulling them tight, so that the flesh bulged around the edges. Tiffany watched, amazed, as the straps pressed into her mother’s tender flesh and her legs flushed pink.

Then the man went to the mother’s crotch and parted her labia with his fingers. Tiffany could see right in, see the ragged inner lips. He put a metal clamp on each of the outer lips, squeezing them under the pressure. Her mother endured the torture without a sound. Then the man used hooked, elastic bands to attach to cunt-clamps to the straps on the mother’s widespread legs. Her vulva gaped open, stretched wide, and the mother grunted.