Chapter 11: “French Lessons”

I wandered into the kitchen thinking again of Maggie’s predicament.

She’d always been impulsive, liable to go off and do strange things for no good reason. This wouldn’t be the first time I’d been forced to bail her out when things got out of hand.

An image of her bound and gagged flittered through my mind and I was suddenly and unexpectedly hard.

Wow! On one level I realized it was wrong; here was a long time friend in an embarrassing and potentially dangerous situation.

I shouldn’t be getting off on it but it was such a turn on I simply couldn’t help myself.

I could imagine her lying there, wrists raw from her frantic struggles, body coated in sweat.

At first she would have been too embarrassed to call for help -- after all she wouldn’t want the neighbors to find her like this.

But as she tired and that knot of fear grew in her gut, she would have abandoned any thought for her dignity.

After all, survival is of primary importance.

I suppose she would have tried screaming first, but the gag was so tight I’d had problems hearing her close to a phone.

Then, as her neighbors started to leave for work and she could hear them passing her door, I could imagine her desperate attempts to attract their attention -- the thrashing about, the gagged screams too quiet to be heard, then finally that desperate, frantic phone call.

The drama of it appealed to me.

The reality, the danger, it was like our little adventure of last night.

There had been something, perhaps her look of humiliation in the slut outfit, or the risk of discovery in the elevator, that had given the experience more of a kick.

Whatever it was, it seemed to be missing from my relationship with Caroline.

Don’t get me wrong; nothing in my life compared with the immense thrill of the kidnapping.

The first time I’d raped Caroline as she lay there bound and helpless --- when I’d felt her struggles, heard her gagged moans I’d been in ecstasy, but after that it had started to become a little tame.

I still got a huge kick out of just having her.

She was young, sexy, beautiful and completely in my power.

I was in control freak heaven.

I could degrade her anyway I liked; I was the one with the Power.

It was the ultimate geek’s fantasy.

I had a pretty blonde cheerleader tied up in my basement.

Yet strangely enough, bondage sex with my real prisoner did not seem as real as my little act with Maggie.

I think it’s lack of spontaneity.

Although I keep Caroline bound and gagged most of the time, it’s mainly for show.

She spends her days locked behind an armored door in a sound-proof room; escape is impossible and the bonds are overkill.

I thought again of Maggie lying helplessly in her room.

In her case the bonds were real, the cuffs constrained her, the gag stole her voice and any chance of rescue.

And that rescue is so tantalizingly close...

I looked at my watch.

Two hours I’d told Maggie.

Two hours if I’d been ready in my car.

Two hours if I did eighty all the way and dodged the state troopers.

Two hours if I didn’t have a slave to feed.

She would understand my lateness, I was sure.

Then a strange thought struck me.

Suppose I was killed in a car accident on my way to save Maggie?

I realized immediately that both girls would be doomed.

Maggie would eventually be found when the police searched her apartment, but Caroline?

Caroline would die of starvation alone and helpless and the chances were her body would never be found.

Strangely, I found the thought thrilling; to think that two other human beings were so dependent on me that they would die if I did.

What a feeling of Power!

Caroline...

To be honest, I couldn’t think about Caroline without feeling a little numb.

I can’t really say that I was emotionally drained; I am by nature and training an analytical person, and emotion doesn’t come easily to me.

But the horrors of that attic room continued to haunt me as I started the coffee and began to prepare breakfast.

I forced myself to analyze the situation in depth, going backwards and forwards over a tale that seemed more and more incredible.

Last night when she had first told me the story, I had believed her completely.

But now in the cold light of day I started to doubt.

I suppose I didn’t want to believe that a father could do this to his own daughter, and instead I started to wonder if this was some elaborate hoax.

At first I couldn’t see a motive for such a flagrant lie.

Then the cynical part of my brain found a reason -- to somehow shame me into freeing her.

Of course, that must be it!

I could almost imagine her lying there alone in the dark, concocting a story loaded with all the abhorrent images her psych training had taught her.

She was just trying to manipulate me, trying to escape.

Happy to find an explanation, I started to pick holes in her story.

One thing hit me immediately; surely such torture as she had described would leave scars, huge horrible scars like in the movies.

No scars meant no torture, which meant she was playing me for a sucker!

Suddenly I felt very angry.

I wanted to go down there and introduce her to the lash, help put that added bit of realism into her story...

Then I wondered just why the lying bitch should have a breakfast when poor Maggie was all alone and helpless.

Alone and helpless...

Then, an evil thought struck me.

My old accomplice Fate had once again delivered me a wonderful opportunity, if I chose to take it.

Of course it would be expensive, but as I’d pointed out to Caroline taking a slave was far from cheap.

As the plan started to form, a gut-level thrill went through me, and I started putting together a list of things I’d need.

I was tempted to forget about Caroline and let the bitch fend for herself, but in the end I relented and decided to make her a health drink for breakfast.

After all, I did want to put her on a diet and I’d already decided to give her low residue foods while I was away in Seattle.

The image of a helpless Maggie flashed through the window of my mind.

Yes, it would be worth it.

My hand shook as I took some Gatorade and a box of protein powder and loaded up the blender.

For my plan to work I needed to get to Boston fast.

Fortunately, I knew a way.

All I needed to do was make a few phone calls and find something for Caroline to do this morning.

The calls were the easy part.

Traveling as much as I do has a few advantages, one of which is that lots of hotel chains and car rental agencies see you as a valued customer.

They’re more than willing to provide an extra service for you, rather than lose you to a more compliant competitor.

Fifteen minutes later and everything was ready.

Now all that was left was Caroline.

I went downstairs with the protein shake and a flask of coffee.

I paused at the table and retrieved some new clothes and restraints.

Then I crumbled a contraceptive pill into her coffee cup and topped it up.

So far she hadn’t noticed anything wrong, and soon I’d start ordering her to take it, adding her reproductive ability (or inability, as it were) to the things under my obvious control.

She was still asleep when I went inside.

I was tempted to shake her awake and have it out with her right then, but common sense finally fought through.

Instead of waking her, I put the cup on the dresser and bent down to examine her naked crotch.

I had been right about the stubble -- she would need a shave soon -- but of more interest to me were her pussy lips.

Very gently, so as not to disturb her, I examined the folds.

Even in the dim light, I could see a series of irregular pockmarked scars about a sixteenth of an inch from the edge.

As I looked closely at the tiny pits, I felt my stomach turn.

Any doubts I still had evaporated as those scars, so exactly like the ones from a hypodermic, told me that the “butterfly board” was real.

Gently I examined the other side, noticing the corresponding marks that showed how the needle had gone right through the delicate membranes.

Above me, she moaned, her tongue darting quickly across her other lips.

There was already the suggestion of moisture in her cunt from my handling of her pussy lips, and her nipples had started to harden again.

Then I realized what agony it must have been for her; to be this sensitive and for him to do that.

I wasn’t surprised that she’d told him about Josh -- in a similar situation, I’d have done anything to stop the pain.

I felt a momentary flash of guilt for having doubted her, so I reached over and gently stroked her cheek.

She woke slowly, smiling as she attempted to stretch then found that she couldn’t.

For an instant she seemed puzzled, then she remembered.

Her eyes flickered open.

I smiled at her.

“Time to wake up, lazy bones.”

Surprisingly, she smiled back.

“Hi Master.”

“Not yet, but the day is still young,” I said flippantly, and slapped her bottom.

I helped her up and we went through the coffee and toilet ritual.

She seemed happy; our first therapy session together appeared to have relaxed her.

I knew that she hadn’t told me everything, though.

Her story had stopped soon after Josh’s death, with three whole years of horror left.

One thing I did find out last night was that the Reverend Conway could pack a lot of suffering into a year.

The thing I most wanted to know was how she’d escaped.

Had she run away?

Did that explain her destitute condition and lack of letters home?

I needed to know before I posted something out of character to her family and gave the game away.

Still, that could wait.

She seemed much better than last night and I started to feel happier with the idea of leaving her alone for a while.

I led her into the dungeon and removed the posture collar from her neck, replacing her old collar.

After I chained her to the table I removed the rest of the single sleeve and smiled again.

“Ok, get naked!”

She didn’t hesitate, stripping off the remaining latex in moments.

I circled her body, admiring her slim athletic build and small but perfect breasts.

I had come to appreciate just what a find she was and I could understand why any man would kill to keep her.

I tossed her some leather cuffs which she put on without comment.

To put on the ankle cuffs, she put one foot at a time on the bondage chair and bent over, and I took the opportunity to look at her back carefully.

The lines were faint, so faint that I wasn’t surprised I had missed them.

These were not the vivid scars so beloved of Hollywood, and I suspected that Conway had been very careful to ensure that all tell-tale wounds healed properly.

Yet faint as they, were the scars were there.

It was more support for her story.

By now she was waiting expectantly, so I handed her the shake.

“What’s this?” she asked, looking at the concoction with some distaste.

“Breakfast,” I said. “Michael Jordan’s secret recipe. Denis would kill to know what’s in it.”

She looked blank.

“Not a big basketball fan then?” I asked.

Again getting no reply I went for the less subtle approach.

“Just drink it, slave. It’s all the meal you’re getting this morning.”

“Why? Have I upset you in some way?” she asked, almost fearfully.

“Because if I did I’m sorry...”

“No, it’s just healthier than the cooked breakfast. Now drink the fucking shake!”

She chugged it down.

I got the feeling that she was trying to avoid any confrontation, which suited me fine.

Most of the last few days had revolved around her, a situation that couldn’t continue if I wanted to keep working.

Now was the obvious time to acquaint her with the lowliness of her new position; that as a slave, she was just a possession like any other and had only a limited influence on my life.

Once the shake was finished I clipped her wrists to her collar and began to dress her.

First up came a black leather bondage belt.

This was about three or four inches wide with rings equally spaced around it.

It had buckles on the front and a small catch, and after tightening it firmly about her narrow waist I locked it in place with a padlock.

She didn’t struggle or even comment -- cuffs, gags and chains were a part of her life now, and I think she’d started to accept that.

Once the belt was locked in place I helped her on to the table and used cord and straps to tie her down.

As before, I strapped her with her legs parted and her pussy exposed.

I wished I had the time to shave her twat again but I had a lot to do and the clock was ticking.

Once Caroline was secure I reached over and took a packet from the table.

The packet took some opening as it was designed to keep its contents sterile.

After a struggle I finally got it open and was able to remove the catheter.

This was a small hollow tube surrounded by an inflatable surgical balloon.

I looked for a reaction but it was obvious she didn’t recognize it.

She was still wearing the training harness, so after a little thought I reached over and pushed the ball against those cherry lips.

She opened immediately and I pushed the gag in, loosely fastening it just enough to hold it in place.

Then, using a small jar of lube, I greased the end of the catheter and parted her pussy lips.

Her clit had already started to swell and as I gently pushed it out of the way her whole body trembled.

Very carefully, I placed the catheter against her urethra and pushed.

A muffled squeal erupted from the far end of the table, and her hips quaked as her body fought against the imprisoning bonds.

The thin tube slid home into her bladder, and I slowly inflated the balloon the small amount needed to seal it in place.

Then I removed the pump and waited for her to calm down.

Needless to say this took a while, but eventually she was ready for the next stage.

I call the device a McGuffin.

It’s a small oval piece of latex a little bigger than a woman’s labia.

One side is plain, and the other is studded with electrodes and small piezo-electric buzzers.

This particular one had been designed for use with the catheter and had a small hole between the cluster of electrodes for the clit and those for the rest of the pussy.

Sliding it down the tube, I gently moved it into best contact.

At the other end of the table the moans started again.

Once it was in position, I sealed it in place using surgical tape, then released Caroline.

She stood a little uncertainly; it must be odd for a woman to suddenly find a pipe between her legs, and she struggled a bit more than usual as I covered the arrangement with a special pair of spandex pants.

I used a locking belt to fasten the pants in place then started to apply electrodes to her breasts.

She struggled and moaned into the gag as I stuck a couple of other McGuffins on top if each nipple.

I finished up with an spandex athletic bra just like those in the shops except modified to lock in place.

Then I removed the gag.

“What are you doing ... Master?”

“Careful, slave. You almost bought yourself a punishment!”

Her eyes were wide. “Isn’t this a punishment?”

I laughed and kissed her forehead. “Why, have you done anything wrong?”

She thought for a while. “Not as far as I know.”

“Then why should I punish you?”

It seemed straightforward to me, but then Conway had never needed a reason to punish her.

I smiled. “I have to go somewhere and I need to keep you busy while I’m gone. Trust me, all will be revealed!”

She squirmed. “That thing ... it’s uncomfortable.”

“Yep, it is.”

I pushed her back onto the table and locked a pair of shoes with sensible heels on her dainty little feet.

Realizing she wasn’t going to get any sympathy, she pouted for a while, then seemed to realize that she was ungagged and could talk.

She looked up. “Master?” she asked softly.

I stopped for a moment.

“Yes slave?”

“Can we talk about your mother?”

I was puzzled but willing to play along.

“I suppose so.”

“Do ... Do you love your mother?”

That caught me by surprise.

To be honest, my mother was a bit of a bitch.

While my father was tending the store, she’d ruled our household like a petty tyrant.

When it had become clear that I was ... different, she had pushed me towards greater and greater academic achievement.

If for some reason I didn’t jump a grade or score better than anyone else on a test, she wanted to know why.

Thinking back on it, if it hadn’t been for my grandfather’s gentle but firm insistence on letting me have some free time to myself, I don’t believe I would have had a childhood at all.

It was my belief that most of my problems with women had come from her; my desire for sexual dominance, my status as a power freak, was a subconscious backlash against her total domination of my childhood.

“Of course I love her,” I said, and it was true.

After all, you’d have to be really screwed up not to love your mother.

She gulped a bit. “If something ... bad was going to happen to her, something you could prevent, you’d do it, right?”

I attached the leash to her collar and led her over to part of the dungeon near the cell.

“Yes,” I said.

Caroline seemed to prefer straight answers.

The floodgates opened. “Please, you have to let me go or he’ll kill her,” she begged.

“He’ll kill my mother?” Needless to say, I was shocked.

“NO! He’ll kill my mother!” she wailed.

I stopped.

“When did we start talking about your mother?”

I said, sounding confused.

In the back of my mind I could imagine the laugh track, like this was some weird sitcom.

In my head I could almost hear the intro -- ‘New this fall, the hilarious new show “Master and Slave,” coming soon on NBC! Richard Cody, successful author, kidnaps a girl and keeps her in his basement -- you’ll be rolling with laughter as he tries to keep this fact secret from friends and family, often with hilarious results!’

“Perhaps if you start again,” I said smoothly. “Who’s going to kill who and why?”

She took a deep, halting breath. “Momma wanted me to go to college, but at first my father wouldn’t let me,” she said.

“Then she talked him around, but he said he was going to call me every week.

If I ran away or if he found out I’d told anyone, he’d kill her and then himself--”

“How could he find out?” I asked, annoyed. “That’s stupid, he can’t be keeping track of you all the time.”

She shook her head. “He has friends in the police, lodge buddies, he says they’d warn him if the police started getting interested in him. He’ll do it, I know he will!”

So she hadn’t escaped him. She was still as much his prisoner now as she had been in that attic.

Conway still had her on a tight leash; only the nature of the chain and its length were different.

While I could believe that he had contacts in local law enforcement and even see how they might tip him off, there was no way he could have everything covered.

Then I looked at Caroline and saw the fear in those blue eyes, and I realized it didn’t have to make sense as long as SHE believed it.

Still, I was intrigued enough to want to know more.

“So he let you leave town on the understanding that he was to know where you are and that you were to keep quiet about the things he did,” I said.

She nodded and looked down.

I reached over and forced her to look at me.

“What if he were to order you back?”

She sniffed. “I had to come at once.”

“He specifically told you that?”

She nodded again.

“He said that if I disobeyed, it would be Momma who was punished because it was her idea.”

Somehow I didn’t think he would limit the punishment to just the mother.

So he’d let Caroline go.

Suddenly, the alarm bells in the back of my mind were on overload.

One thing I’d learned was that he did nothing without a reason, and I knew for sure was that whatever that reason was, it hadn’t been to please his slave wife.

No, if Charles Conway had allowed Caroline out of town then he had something in mind and from experience it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

Conway’s plans tended to be pretty straight-forward.

He didn’t mislead or bluff; instead, he relied on using his position in the local community to best effect.

I was sure that had the Conways not been the family of the local minister, someone would have spotted the abuse long before now.

But then, as Caroline had said, who would suspect the nicest man in town?

Hell, even I’d thought she was lying.

I guess people just don’t want to believe something like that.

I analyzed the problem.

I could see no obvious benefit for getting her out of town, but then I didn’t have all the data he did.

However I knew there was a reason and it would be obvious from Conway’s point of view.

Then something else popped into my head.

“Hey, wait a minute! If he’s told you that he intends to call you back, then what was that ‘offer’ of yours?”

“My offer was good.”

“Bullshit! If he called you back to Iowa, how could you have been my slave here? You lied, you little bitch.”

She flushed.

“I don’t think he’ll call. I’ve been away almost eight months and I’ve been able to avoid going home even during vacations. He hasn’t said anything. I’m almost free.”

I shook my head.

“No you’re not. He’s just played out the line a little, that’s all. He has every intention of reeling you back.”

A look of fear crossed her face.

“Oh no. I mean, he wouldn’t--”

“He would,” I said harshly. “My guess is he was going to do it soon, otherwise he’d have given you some more money.”

“I don’t see...”

“You’re on a scholarship, right?”

She nodded.

“What is it, a hundred percent of tuition costs?”

She nodded again, a worried look spreading across her face.

“And he pays for your rent, food and things. I mean, he gives you money for that.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Let me tell you what’s happened and you correct me if I’m wrong.

“He’s never really given you enough to live on, so it’s always been a struggle. He’s said something about working your way through college builds character. He hasn’t worried when your grades have suffered as a result.

“Recently, he’s sent you even less money, and he’s been making noises about coming for a visit.”

By now the look of alarm had turned almost to panic. “Next month. But how...”

“I’m afraid it’s obvious. He’s coming to get you to take you back,” I said.

Her face filled with horror. “Back...”

“Probably straight back to the attic, so that he can purge you of any independent thoughts.”

“NO!” she shrieked. “Please God, NO! I’ve left, I’m independent. Never again! Oh, God, never again!”

“You never left,” I said sadly. “He wanted you out of the way for some reason. He never had any intention of letting you finish that course.”

I continued to lead her gently towards the far corner of the dungeon.

“You see, if you fail or he brings you back, the tuition fee will be wasted but he doesn’t care because he’s not paying it. The maintenance fee is something he does pay, which is why he’s keeping it as cheap as possible. That’s why he never gave you enough money, and he hasn’t sent you any more because he knows you won’t be needing it. Besides, he figures you may fear the attic more than what he’ll do to Momma, so the less money you have, the less chance there is that you’ll run.”

The tears streamed down her face.

“No!” she screamed, “you’re just saying that so you don’t have to let me go! He couldn’t... I can’t!”

I looked her in the eye.

“Slave, I don’t have to let you go. Even if he was intending to flay your mother alive, it’s no skin off my nose.”

I winced at the subconscious pun. “What I mean is, I’m the only one who has no problem being honest with you because I know what you’re going to do.”

“And that is?”

“Exactly what I tell you,” I said.

She looked down deep in misery.

By now we had come to the far corner and a couple of items which were covered by dust sheets.

Still sniffing, she looked at them with some trepidation, probably thinking they were some arcane torture device.

And in fact she was right, as she saw when I pulled the sheet aside.

I’d seen this thing on a late night infomercial about a year ago.

It was an exercise machine that looked like a cross between a bicycle and a rowing machine.

You sit on it and while your legs turn some pedals your arms pull the handles towards you.

I used it successfully until I moved into the house and had access to a dedicated multigym, at which point I moved the machine down here.

Of course, I had to modify it for its use as a slave trainer.

First, I welded extra cross members to the frame, to strengthen it and make sure it couldn’t collapse.

Then I added some mounting points for restraints.

Finally I attached some accelerometers and tension gauges so that the computer could monitor its use.

She looked stunned.

“I said you needed exercise,” I said cheerfully.

“Please no! We need to talk about Momma ... I need to talk.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have time. Now do what you’re told or I’ll find something even more uncomfortable to keep you occupied.”

She lowered her head and sobbed once, then nodded.

I removed the gag trainer and helped her on to the machine.

I fastened her right wrist to a small length of chain attached to the handles.

I needed to leave one hand free for drinking, so I made sure it wasn’t her ‘good’ one.

Finally she spoke. “Why did he let me go if he was going to bring me back?”

“He has a reason,” I said. “The fact that we can’t figure it out doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

“But my Momma said--”

“She said what she wanted to believe, or what he wanted her to believe. Ask yourself this: how could she persuade him to do anything not in his own interest? Can she withdraw sex? Can she go away? Can she even have a fight with him?”

“I never thought ... I mean, I was just so happy to be leaving.”

By now I’d fastened the bondage belt to chains coming from the seat so that she couldn’t stand up.

Then, as she sat thinking, I used small chains to secure her feet and ankle cuffs to the pedals.

Once she was strapped down I started with the rest.

I attached a small box to the back of the bondage belt.

This had a number of wires which I connected to the electrodes on her body and to the McGuffins.

She sobbed a little.

“I’ll never get away, ever.”

“You are away,” I said lightly, “and you’re never going back.”

She looked at me, her eyes full of a curious mixture of hope and fear.

“But my Momma?”

“I have an idea,” I said.

“But it will require your complete co-operation.”

“Anything,” she said.

“You said that before and didn’t mean it.”

“To save my Momma, anything!” she said firmly.

“Good girl,” I said, smiling. Always praise the slave when she does well.

I put a sweat band on her left wrist and showed her the small table with the water containers on it, then made the final connections.

I fastened a small hose to the end of the catheter that poked through the pants.

This ended in a bucket behind the machine.

I got her to pee and confirmed that there were no leaks and that the amber liquid flowed easily into the container.

Finally, it was time for the final piece.

I showed her the light weight VR helmet before I put it on her so that she wasn’t too frightened.

I’d modified the basic unit quite a bit to ensure that it couldn’t be removed or tampered with, but in essence it is similar in design to the ones Sega sells.

The only real technical difference was that it uses a flat CRT rather that an LCD module.

After I told her what it was for, she seemed happy for me to strap it on her.

The helmet would display a crude VR environment for her to cycle through.

The virtual course was divided into sections.

If she made the sections on time, the McGuffins would reward her with a little sexual stimulation.