Chapter 1

My problems started when I was a young girl. When I was around eight or nine I first discovered exhibitionism. There is actually nothing unusual about that. Lots of girls that age discover the illicit thrill of allowing the boys a peek at their panties. We don’t know there’s a name for it. We don’t really even know why it excites us yet. But it does.

I remember watching two girls on a playground when I was eight. They were both nine. It was during recess and they were playing with a boy I didn’t know. He appeared to be a couple of years older than the girls. The boy was lying on his back in the grass and the two girls were circling around him and taking turns stepping over his head so that he could look up their short dresses and see their underwear. I still remember the thrill I got just from watching them.

My next flirt with exhibitionism came at the playground in the park near our house. It was only a few weeks later and I know that what I had seen in the playground earlier was still fresh in my mind when I found myself hanging upside down by my knees on the monkey bars in front of several of the neighbor boys I played with regularly. They were a year or two older than me, probably around ten. I remember being embarrassed when they kidded me about seeing my underpants. But I got the distinct impression they were still excited about seeing my little girl underwear. I vaguely remember that secret thrill washing over me again. I didn’t like being teased about it and I suppose I must have been embarrassed. But that forbidden thrill was irresistible. And still I had no idea what it was or why I felt that way.

I’m pretty sure that long before I reached the age of eight my parents had begun drumming modesty into my little brain. I don’t really remember it but it’s reasonable to assume they had been reminding me as often as necessary that I should keep my legs together and avoid letting boys look under my skirt. It’s what parents do. I can only imagine that instead of learning the lesson on modesty most girls probably took from those warnings, I took the knowledge that letting boys see my underwear was something forbidden, and therefor exciting.

At that age I found that boys my age weren’t all that interested in girls. So, I always looked for boys who were a year or two older. But I had begun to notice that it wasn’t just boys that age who looked for opportunities to look up young girl’s skirts. It was older boys too. And even grown up men would look if they thought they could do it without anyone noticing. I never missed out on an opportunity to give the boys and any interested men something to look at and the thrill never went away.

In a few more years an entirely new dynamic was added. I started growing breasts. Jesus that was exciting! I started to notice that the first thing any male looked at when they looked at me was my chest. Even when my tits were tiny, not much more than puffy nipples, they still looked. And the thinner my shirt the harder they looked.

It was years before I came to realize that it wasn’t even unusual for girls, and women, to get a thrill from showing off to the boys. I suppose it’s in our DNA. A subconscious attempt to attract a mate perhaps?

But while I began to recognize in my peers that streak of exhibitionism that was so common, I doubt any of my friends took it as far as I did. In some ways it became a controlling factor in my life.

Now, at the age of nineteen, I’m still an exhibitionist, though I am somewhat more careful about it. You won’t find me hanging upside down from the monkey bars in the playground anymore. Though now that I think about it, it might be fun. My underwear is a lot sexier now.

I have become an incorrigible tease. It isn’t that I don’t like sex. I do. And it isn’t like I never go farther than teasing and showing off. But to be honest, the biggest thrill for me is the tease. I absolutely get off on turning guys on and driving them completely crazy with desire for me. And not just the guys I find attractive and would like to go farther with. I’m that way with all guys. In fact, I probably enjoy it more with the guys I know don’t stand a chance of getting into my tight, sexy, lacy panties.

I went to work right out of high school. I was never a very good student. It isn’t that I’m not reasonably intelligent. I’m honest enough to admit to myself that my problem is that I’m lazy. I never did any more than I had to do to get a passing grade.

I got a job in a small office downtown. There are twelve men working there. There is one small private office where the owner spends his time. The other eleven men work in large, semiprivate cubicles around the walls of the main room. They are all professionals, architects. Then there is me and one other woman. The other woman is my supervisor. She’s in her forties or something and I don’t think she likes me. I think it’s because she knows I got the job because I’m cute, sexy and I have a killer smile.

Don’t get me wrong. I do my job and I do it well. But while I’m doing it I flirt with all the guys and do my very best to drive them crazy. I even torment the owner old guy who’s the owner/manager whenever I get the chance and he seems to get a kick out of it.

I wear sexy clothes and I get a bigger thrill out of leaning down over their desks and giving them a nice long look at my cleavage than they do. And I love to sit on the corner of their desks and act like I don’t know they can see right up my miniskirt to my lacy underwear.

When I’m showing off like that I always wonder if they can see the wet spot on the front of my panties or if it is too dark under my short skirts. I wonder if my underwear is working up inside of my hot, juicy pussy and if they can see the swollen flesh of my vulva or perhaps a few stray strands of my light blonde pubic hair.

I would never do anything but tease the guys, though. I mean, like they’re all old, you know. They’re as old as my father! The youngest guy at work is like in his thirties! And all but one of them is married. Most of them are pretty dorky, too. That’s what made them perfect for my little games.

They all tried. Once they got a few peeks down my blouse and up my skirt they all tried to hit on me. All but the one guy who isn’t married. Paul is probably the oldest guy in the office. He’s probably close to fifty years old. He’s a widower who lives alone. He seems to be the owner’s favorite. He spends more time in the owner’s office than anyone else.

But Paul totally ignored me no matter what I did. I was starting to wonder if he was gay or something even though I know he was married for a long time.

It was obvious that he didn’t like me and he frowned on my little flashing games. I don’t know why. I mean, the other guys all like it. They always got a big kick out it when I flash them. And after a while they knew they were never going to get more than a peek at paradise. They still enjoyed looking as much as I enjoyed showing off a little. It was all just harmless fun.

I suppose that I shouldn’t have gone out of my way to tease him more than the others. I guess it bothered me that my little games didn’t seem to have an effect on him. He would pointedly avoid looking down my blouse when I bent over his desk or up my skirt when I tried to flash my panties at him.

One day I had just dropped some papers on his desk and as usual he didn’t even look up. I leaned my butt against the corner of his desk and then slid my butt up and sat on the edge. I asked, “Paul, why don’t you like me? You always give me dirty looks and you never talk to me when I come around and try to be friendly. Don’t you like girls?”

He started to ignore me. But then he slowly put his pen down, sat back in his chair and glared at me for a moment. After an uncomfortably long pause he responded in a firm voice that left no doubt what he thought of me, “You are a fucking prick tease, Shannon. I’d have a lot more respect for you if you went around fucking all these guys. Instead, you flash your tits and your little pussy at them and get them all excited and then you walk away, probably to the ladies room to play with yourself while you think about how hard those poor saps got looking at your goodies. I’ve told you before. Stay the fuck away from me. Now get your nasty ass off of my desk. I have work to do.”

That son of a bitch! He had no right to talk to me that way! I slowly lowered one foot to the floor, making sure that the bastard got a damned long look at my lacy underwear. Then I stood up and walked away. I was so mad I promised myself I was going to make a point out of driving him crazy. I was going to try my best to keep his fucking cock hard all day long and send him home with blue balls every night of the week. He had no right to talk to me like that!

Hell! I’m doing these guys a favor! You can’t tell me that they don’t like looking at the little bits of flesh and sexy lingerie I flashed them. What the hell did Paul expect? That I was going to have sex with every guy who got a peek at my boobs or my underwear?!

I spent the last three days of the week going out of my way to make a tripod out of that son of a bitch. I flashed him every time I got near his desk. And I was much more blatant with him than I had been with the others. It was my goal to send him home with a hard on Friday night that would last all weekend. It’s a three-day weekend, too. Monday is a holiday.

I’m going to teach him a lesson! And every week from now on I’ll teach the son of a bitch another lesson. He’ll learn not to talk to me that way!

It didn’t quite work out the way I planned it.

I had to work a little late on Friday. Not a lot. Maybe fifteen minutes. But the place empties out fast on Friday, and even faster on the Friday before a three day weekend. When I went out to the parking lot it was almost deserted. The usual river of rush hour traffic was streaming by out on the highway. It looked like the city was being evacuated. I wasn’t worried, though. It looks like this every evening.

I stood by my car for a minute, trying to decide if I’m going to go straight home to my tiny studio apartment and eat a tuna sandwich or if I should stop somewhere on the way home and pick up a hamburger. Those were my only two choices really. My parents are out of town for the weekend. I broke up with my last boyfriend. He thinks I’m too much of a flirt. My closest friends have plans for the weekend. My options were pretty limited.

I decided that the tuna was a smarter move than the burger and that being the most important decision I planned to make this weekend I started unlocking my car door to go home.

I never saw it coming. I didn’t hear anyone behind me. Suddenly a muscular arm went around my neck and a large cloth bag or a pillowcase or something was slipped over my head. I opened my mouth to scream but as soon as I opened my mouth a large rubber ball was crammed between my teeth. Before I even knew what was going on it was fastened in place with a strap around the back of my head.

I struggled to free myself with all of my might but it was a waste of effort. The large man who has me in his grip didn’t even seem to notice.

My arms were grabbed and cuffed behind my back. The bag over my head was tied in place around my neck. I stood there, more afraid than I’ve ever been in my life and tried to stop myself from hyperventilating. I don’t want to pass out. I want to know what’s going to happen to me. Or at least I think I do.

I stopped struggling for a moment. The panic I felt kept me frozen in place while my attacker used a piece of rough rope to tie my ankles together. I was totally helpless and as far as I could tell, no one had seen a thing.

My attacker picked me up and tossed me over his shoulder easily. I heard him lock my car and take the key. He carried me a short distance and I was roughly placed into the trunk of a car. My attacker used another piece of rope to tie my ankles to the handcuffs holding my wrists in place behind my back. Then the trunk lid was slammed shut.

It had all happened in less than two minutes. He had never said a word and I had seen only enough of my attacker to know that he’s a large, muscular, white man. I never saw his face and I don’t have a clue as to his identity. I’m experiencing every woman’s worst nightmare. I’ve never been so afraid in my life.

I heard him get in the car, start it up and drive slowly out of the parking lot. There was no wild getaway. He didn’t seem to be doing anything to draw attention to his actions. He calmly drove away with me in the trunk, totally vulnerable and terrified.

I lay helpless in that dark trunk, thinking of all the possibilities. There weren’t that many. They ranged from horrible to even worse. But above all else I know that I do not want to die. I’m so scared I can hardly breathe. But I resolved to do whatever it takes to stay alive.

No matter how much I tried not to think about the possibility, my mind kept flashing on the pictures of those poor girls who are frequently in the news. I’m being haunted by the news reports of those pretty young women who disappear for days or weeks and the community searches and searches until her body is found in a shallow grave somewhere. Is that to be my fate?

Just before I went completely crazy the car slowed and then parked and the engine was turned off. I heard a garage door closing and then my captor got out of the car and opened the trunk. I was lifted from the trunk and carried into a silent house.

He set me down and removed the rope between my handcuffs and my ankles. He picked me up effortlessly and stood me on my feet. Before I could fall to the floor and curl up in a little ball he placed a rope around my neck. The rope was already there, suspended from the ceiling, waiting for me. He had not just seen me on the street and taken me. He had planned this! But did he plan to take me or was I just the first victim he came upon? Or, did he do this often and keep this rope here for those occasions when he found a likely victim?

I hated all of this, of course. But that damned rubber ball in my mouth was what frustrated me the most. I can’t talk. I can’t plead. I can’t reason with him. I can’t scream for help. And I’m drooling around the sides of the fucking rubber ball and that’s embarrassing.

I felt him loosening the string that held the cloth bag over my head. I’m finally going to get to see the face of my attacker! Maybe he’ll even remove that horrible ball from my mouth and I can reason with him, or at least beg to be released.

I felt the fresh air rushing in and I inhaled deeply. The stale air inside that little bag over my head was quickly replaced with breathable air. I felt him reaching under the bag and I was dismayed to learn I’m not to have my sight returned after all. He’s placing a blindfold over my eyes. When it was secure he lifted the bag from my head. I’m grateful for the fresh air but I’m still blind and mute and totally helpless and it’s terrifying.

Things suddenly got a lot worse. As soon as my captor had removed the bag over my head his hands went to my blouse and violently ripped it down the front. I heard buttons flying off and landing around the room and I felt the cool room air on my body.

He pulled the remnants of my blouse down and let it hang from my hands which are still cuffed behind me. He stood in front of me then. I can imagine him staring at me in my sexy little bra. Like all my bras it’s a sexy, lacy little thing. I know he can see my nipples through the lace.

I kept expecting his large, strong hands to begin to molest my helpless body. But still he didn’t touch me, not that way.

His hand grabbed the front of my bra and with one vicious, painful yank the front closure was destroyed and my breasts were exposed. But still he didn’t touch me.

My bra slid down my shoulders to join the remnants of my blouse hanging from my fettered wrists. I felt his large hands at the waist of my miniskirt. He tore the closure open with ease and allowed my skirt to fall to the floor around my feet.

It suddenly occurred to me that he’s destroying my clothing. Does that mean he doesn’t intend for me to leave here, ever?

I’m left in only my panties and pantyhose now. But not for long. He didn’t try to rip those. He roughly jerked at the waistband and yanked them down to my ankles where they came to rest on the ropes that still bind my ankles.

I’m naked now, in front of a total stranger. Or at least I assume he’s a stranger. I’m naked and totally helpless, and still he didn’t touch me.

I heard him walk away and I was relieved, but confused. I nervously followed the sounds he made as he went to the kitchen and it took me a moment to realize he had left me, naked and restrained, to go and make his supper!

I remained standing precariously with a rope around my neck and with drool oozing out around the corners of my mouth while my captor made supper. Before he ate, though, he came back over to where I stood and stared at me.

I waited fearfully for his hands to take advantage of my helplessness. But still he didn’t touch me. Instead, he fastened sturdy leather straps around my upper thighs. His hands worked so close to my crotch that I imagined I could feel the heat from them. And still he didn’t touch me!

Once he had fastened one of those heavy leather straps to each of my thighs he moved behind me and unlocked my handcuffs. Before I could react he grabbed my arm and I discovered that there were wrist restraints attached to the straps around my thighs.

Once he had restrained both my wrists I felt him cutting my panties and pantyhose away from my ankles with a knife. He cut my skirt away and then I heard him picking up my blouse and bra and walking away, leaving me helpless and totally exposed.

I’m totally focused on every move he’s making, analyzing the sounds and trying to judge his intent. But then, that’s all I have. My entire world has been reduced to listening to what my kidnapper is doing and waiting helplessly for him to do whatever he’s going to do to me.

I heard him sit down nearby and eat his evening meal. I can smell the food. It smells good. But of course, I’m much too terrified to have an appetite. On the other hand, I’m dying for a glass of water. And I would have given almost anything to get that damned ball out of my mouth so I can swallow.

I’m scared, very tired, dying of thirst and extremely uncomfortable. The rope around my neck that’s holding me in place is beginning to chafe. My arms are no longer held in place behind my back, but I still don’t have the use of them. My legs are tired and shaky and my jaw is extremely uncomfortable from being held open so wide around that rubber ball it feels like my jaw is dislocated. This isn’t the weekend I was looking forward to having.

But all of that pales next to the terror I feel as I contemplate my fate. I don’t know if I’m going to be alive tomorrow. I don’t know if I was going to be tortured or simply raped and killed. I had begun to fear I was going to die tonight because of the violent way he shredded my clothing. I certainly can’t get dressed and walk out of here now.

I heard my kidnapper get up, clean off the table and wash dishes. He left the room then. I listened as he went past me and into the back of the house. It isn’t a relief to have him out of the room, though. I’m nervous about that rope around my neck. What if I fall? I could suffocate, hang on that noose and be dead before he returned.

But I didn’t. It may have been ten minutes later when I heard him returning. I can’t say for sure. It’s impossible to gauge time when you’re blindfolded, restrained and terrified out of your fucking mind!

I felt him unbuckling the strap holding the rubber ball in my mouth and I’m almost grateful to him. He pulled it out of my mouth and I was just about to speak. I don’t honestly know if I was going to beg him to let me go or scream obscenities at him for the indignities to which he’s subjecting me.

In either case, I never got the chance. I worked my jaw a couple of times. It’s stiff and sore and I’m not even sure if I could have spoken right away. But in seconds I felt him stuffing something else in my mouth. It’s some sort of rubber coated metal circle that’s holding my mouth open. It’s fastened behind my head just like the rubber ball.

The two major differences I can discern are that my jaw isn’t forced to open quite as far now as it had been with the ball, and the ring is open in the center which allows me to breathe through my mouth.

I tried to speak with the ring in my mouth. I want to beg him for a sip of water if nothing else. All thoughts of screaming obscenities are gone now. But I’m only capable of making unintelligible noises. I can’t even ask for water.

He stepped back again. He still hasn’t touched me. Or at least he still hasn’t touched me anyplace which would be considered inappropriate. I admit I’m getting confused. I assumed this was all about rape. Why else would someone kidnap me?! I don’t have any money. No rich relatives. No state secrets. Why then doesn’t he just do it and get it over with?!

He came near once more and untied the rope around my ankles. I thought about trying to kick him as soon as the rope was released. I was never an honors student but I knew that would be a dumb thing to do.

I’m already afraid he’s going to torture me. Even if I did manage to kick him hard enough to cause him pain, then what? Then nothing, of course. If my only two choices are piss him off and don’t piss him off I’m going to have to go for the latter. So I stood still as he untied my ankles and stepped back.

I felt the rope around my neck begin to tighten slightly. I moaned through that ring in my mouth and wondered if that was how I was going to die. But that seemed so pointless. Surely he wouldn’t bring me to his home just so he could slowly strangle me with a noose around my neck. He tightened it just enough that I had no movement available to me without hurting myself and making it difficult to breath. As long as I stand absolutely still in this one spot I’m fine. The slightest movement, however, is painful.

I heard him walking around me slowly. I don’t know why I felt it. It may just have been my imagination. But I felt like there was an aura of complete calm around him. He doesn’t seem agitated or nervous or excited. He’s totally in charge and he gives off a vibe that leads me to believe he’s totally relaxed. It’s just a feeling, just an impression. I have nothing upon which to base it. But that’s how I feel and it makes me that much more nervous.

I somehow know that even if I had been able to speak, to beg, to reason with him, nothing I said would have an effect on him or his actions. He’s going to do to me those things he planned to do to me. Nothing I say or do will make a difference.

My reverie was suddenly interrupted. Without any warning I felt a horrible pain across the backs of my thighs. He had hit me! I have never before been struck in my entire life. Now I feel a burning pain across my thighs and it’s more horrible than anything I’ve ever experienced. It had hurt so much and been so sudden I didn’t even have time to scream.

But then, I wouldn’t have been able to scream anyway. Not so much because of the ring between my teeth. But because when I felt that sudden pain I jumped reflexively and now I’m struggling to center myself under the rope around my neck again before I suffocate. The pain from the rope is almost as severe as the pain in my thighs.

I finally regained my position and through my hysterical sobs I struggled to make a recognizable sound. I begged him wordlessly not to do that again. I shook my head, the only movement that’s left to me, and I mumbled a garbled plea. If he had removed that ring I would have promised him anything at that moment if he would just not strike me again.

But I made no promises and I doubt if he would have cared. I heard the next blow coming. I heard a swishing sound of something slicing rapidly through the air and I was struck again, almost in the same spot where the first blow landed.

I would have shrieked in pain if it were not for that ring in my mouth. Instead, I made some garbled noise that came nowhere near representing the pain I’m experiencing.

I fought to keep my feet planted under the noose around my neck but no amount of willpower could overcome that sudden, overpowering pain. I was unable to stop my body’s involuntary attempts to escape from that pain. So once more I nearly hung myself as I danced underneath that rope and struggled to right myself so I could breathe.

Once more I struggled to plead with the monster who’s beating me. I shook my head as violently as I dared and I made the only sounds I could. It was all to no avail. He paused once more, no doubt savoring my suffering.

I had only just managed to regain my breath when he struck again. He hit me right across the cheeks of my ass this time. And once again I nearly hung myself as I struggled to avoid the pain.

Each time he waited until I had regained my balance and just about caught my breath before he struck again. He hit me twice more across my ass, once above the first slashing blow and then below. I nearly succeeded in remaining in place with the third painful blow across my ass cheeks.

I’m sobbing hysterically now. The tears are streaming down my cheeks, unchecked by the blindfold, and dripping down onto my heaving breasts. I can hear an unrecognizable sound coming from my mouth, a combination of crying, wordless, mindless begging for mercy and moans of pain.

I received two more vicious blows across my back, one right after the other in rapid succession. Then he paused to let me recover.

I got my feet back under me and gasped for breath. He had whipped me from my thighs to my shoulders and I prayed he was finished. I’m certain I can’t take any more. I’m terrified that I may faint and strangle while he watches me doing my little death dance on the end of this thick rope around my neck.

But he’s far from finished. I heard that swishing sound again and this time the pain erupted on the front of my thighs, just above my knees.

The pain was even worse when he hit me on the front of my thighs. I hurt so much from the whipping that I’ve almost reached the point at which I can ignore the pain from the rope around my neck and my inability to breathe when I move out of position.

He struck me once more on my upper thighs, just below my pussy. And then, as soon as I was back in position he struck me on my lower belly, just above my pubic hair.

I’m a hopeless mess by this time. I have drool flowing freely from my open mouth and mixing with the steady stream of tears running out from under the blindfold and down my cheeks, then dripping down onto my breasts. I’m struggling to breathe, in part because every time he strikes me I nearly hang myself on the rope. But also, because I’m crying so hard I can’t seem to catch my breath. I imagined that the sexy body I take so much pride in must be bruised and battered and quite probably bleeding as well. I’m nearly out of my mind with pain and with the terror I’m feeling.

It seems like I’ve been very much in charge of my life and the people around me ever since I discovered the difference between girls and boys and how to take advantage of that difference. The feeling of being so utterly helpless now is nearly as unbearable as the pain. Or at least that was what I thought until he struck me across my breasts.

The very concept of striking a woman across her breasts was unimaginable to me. The cane or whip or whatever the hell he was beating me with struck me dead center across both breasts, right across my nipples. I couldn’t even make a noise it hurt so much. I thought I was going to vomit. I prayed to pass out, even if it meant strangling to death. I could accept that now. I could accept anything but another blow to my sensitive breasts. But twice more he slashed across them with this whip, once above the nipples and once below.

After that final blow I was left dangling from the rope, finally unable to recover. I was semi conscious, aware that I was hanging by my neck and running out of air but too stunned to recover.

He stood in front of me, watching to see if I would die I think. But then I felt him grab a handful of my long blonde hair and pull me back into position.

I gasped for air and struggled to stay on my feet. I’m not able to stand very well. My legs are shaking and it’s by no means certain I can support myself. On the other hand, I’m not certain I want to. If this is all I have to look forward to before he kills me what’s the point? Why not just get it over with?

He moved around behind me once more. I’m terrified that the beating is about to continue. He didn’t hit me, though. He stepped up behind me and whispered in my ear, “I’m going to remove that ring from your mouth. If you behave yourself and are quiet I will give you a drink of water. If you attempt to raise your voice I will put it back in place. You may, however, feel free to beg.”

I felt the buckle behind my head being released and he gently removed that rubber clad metal ring from my mouth. At first I couldn’t even close my jaws. The hinges wouldn’t work. My mouth stayed open as I struggled to regain the use of my jaw and I continued to drool all over my chin and down onto my chest for a long moment.