Bondage Town Read online

  It took him forever, and in order to finally get him off, Cynthia had to tell him all over, in great detail what the girls had done to her. He ended up carrying her back to the car, she was so weak. The next day she slept till noon. His call awoke her. His manner was harsh, and she learned in the course of the next half an hour what life would be like as Caleb Trace’s latest sex toy. Three times he made her come over the phone, forcing her to use a cucumber from the refrigerator. In between he had her suck noisily on it so he could hear over the extension.

  “Be ready for me, tonight,” he told her before hanging up. “I’ll be there at three AM, and you’d better be wet.”

  She was, although he never showed till two days later.

  ***

  “Oh, yea,” he said now, showing his vocabulary hadn’t improved much in twenty years. “That’s it, Sin. Do me deep.”

  The crazy thing was, Cynthia really did want to submit to a strong man, to give her love over to someone who could possess and control her. Even back then she’d craved it, without realizing. Cal had talked the talk and won her over, but she saw now that he didn’t have what it took to be a true dominator—at least not with her.

  “Hey, mister?”

  Cynthia froze. It was the movers again, calling from outside, obviously trying not to look at what was going on. All they’d be able to see was Cal, but with his pants down and her behind him it would be pretty obvious what was going on.

  “Hey, boys. Got it all done?”

  “Uh, yea.”

  “Fair enough boys. He turned his head, waved to them with his cowboy hat. “The extra two hundred’s in that coffee can on the shelf. How about you two having a great day, huh?”

  “Likewise,” she heard one of them chuckling.

  Cynthia felt his hand bracing her neck. He was coming and he wanted to make sure she got it all. Bastard, she thought, as she swallowed his thick seed. The only consolation she had was that these movers weren’t locals, which meant she’d never lay eyes on them again.

  “Good girl,” he praised her, once she’d licked him clean the way she always did.

  She pushed his hand off her head. “Go home to your wife, Caleb.”

  He snorted. “That bitch Meredith is too frigid for me, honey. I need me a real woman like you.”

  For once, she felt sympathy for the dreaded Meredith. Whatever she’d done in the past, all these years living with this man must surely have paid her back.

  “Then go to a whore,” she said, brushing past him. “Because I’ve had it with you.”

  “Just a minute, little girl.” He seized her arm in a viselike grip. “I don’t believe I was done with you yet.”

  Kicking and screaming, he dragged her out to the backyard, having first rifled through the garage for a roll of duct tape. Seeing the swing set, she got a sinking feeling. Out of total desperation and rage, knowing herself beaten, Cynthia Marshall said the one thing she knew might hurt Cal back in the way he was hurting her.

  “I hate you, Caleb! You’re not half the man your brother is!” she cried, as he positioned her under the middle of the horizontal bar.

  Caleb fumed, his face turning cherry red. “Oh, so it’s still my brother your panties are dripping for, huh?” Rudely, he seized one wrist then the other, wrapping long stretches of tape round them. Together, he bound them over her head to the bar. He did it tight enough so she had to stand on tiptoes.

  Watching her wince, face inches from hers, he said, “You think Shep’s so wonderful? Well guess, what, sister? My brother is a nutcase. That’s right. He’s been up at the old family mansion for months now, and he doesn’t even go outside. They say he comes out at night, running around like a wolf, howling at the moon. Probably got some disease over in those Asian whorehouses he’s been living in for twenty years!”

  He grinned stopping to enjoy the shock, the hurt on her face for a moment or two before sealing her mouth with a strip of the tape. Gloating mightily, he finished his work, tearing off her t-shirt, yanking the tiny shorts down to her ankles along with her soaked panties. And so he left her, bound and totally helpless, naked in her own backyard.

  Now what? Her every nerve was on fire. Every dog barking, every twig snapping on the other side of the six-foot fence separating her from the neighbors was threatening to explode her. And the worst part of it, aside from the fact that Reyna would be the one to find her like this, was that she now knew that Shep Trace hadn’t become the happy, well-adjusted man she’d imagined. He was in trouble and she knew it. Just as she knew she had to help him.

  As it turned out, the ants found her ahead of Reyna. Probably it was the perfume, she thought, as they began to crawl up her legs. There were flies, too, buzzing about her aroused nipples, grazing the inside of her thighs, driving her to madness. She clenched her teeth in silent fury, a rage washing over her, unbidden, unstoppable. As terrible as it was, though, she had one consolation. Shep felt it, too, and somehow he was calling out to her, even now.

  Chapter Four

  The first thing Reyna thought when she saw her mother bound to the swing set was that someone had attacked her. She’d run screaming for the scissors, to cut her loose, her other hand holding the mobile phone to dial 911. But when Reyna pulled the tape off her mother’s mouth, Cynthia had told her not to call the police.

  It was at that point that Reyna got suspicious. And when she started asking questions only to have her mother tell her it was a ‘grownup thing’ she wouldn’t understand, then she really got the picture. Cynthia hadn’t been assaulted. She’d been playing sex games. Unbelievable! Who did her mother think she was, telling her how to live her life when here she was living out her sick fantasies right in their own backyard?

  Could anything be more embarrassing?

  “I want to die!” she’d screamed, storming off. “You’re a miserable cunt and a whore and I hate you and you’ve ruined my life!” She didn’t really mean all those things, and she realized that as soon as she stooped over in the front yard retching up the taco Jason had bought her after their lengthy ‘picnic’. He’d kidded her about her being a cheap date, holding her taco out of reach and making her do sexy things to him in the car to get her food. It had been cool and kind of funny to act like a whore for him at the time, but nothing seemed funny anymore. Not when her mother was turning out to be the town tramp all over again.

  Taking off down Main Street, Reyna found the nearest payphone. She had Jason’s cell number. It was written on her stomach and she had no intention of washing it off, ever. It had made her so hot, just sitting there at the Quick Taco, her dress up at her neck, completely vulnerable as he pressed down in black ink across her taut belly.

  Reyna didn’t have any money—or even a purse—so she called collect, giving her first name as ID. It was a little chancy, pulling up her dress to see the number, especially without underwear, but she was past caring. When an older woman answered the phone, she thought she’d dialed wrong. But the woman accepted the charges.

  “Is Jason there?” she blurted, as soon as the operator cut out.

  “No, he’s not, Reyna.” The way she said the name left no doubt she regarded her as an enemy.

  Reyna paused, then said as politely as possible, “Well, do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “No I don’t. May I ask who exactly you are to Jason?”

  “I’m his girlfriend,” she said without thinking. “And who the hell are you?”

  “I’m his mother,” the woman said icily. “Meredith Trace.”

  Reyna winced. “I—I’m sorry, Mrs. Trace.”

  There was noise in the background. She could hear yelling and then finally Jason came on the line.

  “Hello?”

  Reyna’s heart soared at the sound of his voice. “It’s me, baby. I need to see you right away.”

  He hesitated. “Um, I don’t know. I’m in the middle of something.”

  “Now, Jason. I mean it.” Reyna shifted the black receiver from one ear to the other
, intensifying her voice. “I need you bad. I want to play a new game. Do you think you can get those little brats together? The blondes from yesterday? Good. Are they cool? Will they play kinky? Because I want all three of you to take me on. Hardcore. Understand?”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice uneasy.

  “Pick me up on Main, by the arcade,” she instructed. “And don’t screw this up.”

  Reyna slammed down the phone. She’d scared the crap out of him, she could tell, but she was desperate and had no choice. Slipping to the ground, she wrapped her arms round her knees to wait. She thought how pissed Cynthia would be after today. Good. It made her so sick to think she’d cared so much for what mother thought of everything all these years and meanwhile she was a bigger pervert than Reyna could ever hope to be.

  What a joke! Her mother probably did drugs, too. What kind of hypocrite was she, always talking about how much she cared about her? She didn’t care. She couldn’t or else she wouldn’t embarrass her like that, making a fool out of herself. How could she let someone do that to her? She was a mother. How could someone tie her that way, totally nude and, and…

  Just in time she heard the Mustang. She’d been real close to tears, and that was baby stuff.

  “Get in,” Jason told her, leaning over to open the passenger door as he drove up on the sidewalk. “Don’t you ever worry about getting a ticket?” she asked as he did a one eighty in the middle of the street.

  “Don’t have to,” he shrugged. “My family owns this town.”

  Reyna pondered the words, trying to match them with her image of him as a rebel. “Whatever,” she quipped, reclining the seat and closing her eyes. “Just tell me you did what I asked.”

  “Got it covered. By the time we’re done with you, you won’t be able to walk straight.”

  Reyna leaned over and took out his cock. “I’m counting on it,” she declared, lowering her head to caress him. She’d make Cynthia sorry for being a slut all right. By the time she was done, her mother would look like a choir angel.

  Jason drove her to the storage unit, which was just what she was hoping for. He had to pull her off of him by the mane of her unkempt hair. Wetting her lips seductively, she told him she liked it when he was rough.

  His eyes went all glazed as he grabbed her breast, twisting it clockwise. “When we get in there,” he told her, kneading it back counterclockwise, “I want you to strip and get on your hands and knees.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jason’s chest puffed visibly as he led her to the door, his hand firmly clamping her bare arm. He had two gym bags under his other arm, the black one and another one in red. As soon as Jason had closed the door behind him, Reyna shed her clothes, putting herself into submission. Under the fluorescent lights, she kissed and licked his boots. When he ran the leather whip, cunning and black braided over her face, it almost made her come on the spot.

  “Get up,” he said harshly, when he’d felt she’d abased herself sufficiently.

  As she rose to her feet, Jason motioned for her to stick out her arms. She did so and he promptly encased them in handcuffs. Reyna liked the feel of the steel better than the Velcro. It was colder, more sexy. Also it was more permanent, and she was acutely aware she’d get free now only with his key.

  With her hands linked in front of her, her breasts made a very tantalizing package: ripe, confined, screaming out their youthful vitality. Jason stooped to take his fill of them with his mouth while she stood there, head thrust back, moaning in pleasure.

  His intent, when he straightened himself, was to string her up, which he did with the aid of a dangling chain. The chain lowered from the ceiling by means of an electric winch, operated by a switch in the wall. Brining it to eye level, he inserted the links of her cuffs into one of the many hooks. He then raised the apparatus, not stopping till Reyna was well on her tiptoes.

  Ribs strained, breasts and belly taut, Reyna glowed, knowing herself to be displayed now to best advantage. “Be merciless,” she whispered fiercely.

  “I will,” he promised.

  “How soon till they get here?”

  “Any minute.”

  “And they’re cool with this?”

  “They’ve never been here,” he admitted. “But don’t worry, they thought you were a real bitch the other day, so I’m sure they’ll get the hang of it pretty fast.”

  Reyna smiled malevolently. “Whip me a little first, Jason. Let’s make them cream their panties as soon as they walk in the door.”

  His eyes flashed. “You got it,” he said, pausing to run a finger down her belly before going to retrieve the whip. Despite his bravado, Reyna had a pretty good idea he’d never even slapped a girl before let alone whipped one.

  “Is that all you have?” she spat through gritted teeth, as the first blow sliced across her bare back. “You hit like a girl.”

  Jason grunted as he let fly the whip a second time, this time landing a blow above her ass. Truth was it hurt like hell, but she just laughed and called him a puppy.

  By the time the girls knocked, timid and prissy, Reyna was hanging limply, her hair hanging down over her breasts. It was a rush, to be sure, and she had some idea now why Cynthia was into this stuff.

  “Oh my God,” she heard one of them giggle. “Look at her. Is she a total freak or what?”

  “Totally,” the other agreed.

  At Jason’s invitation they came closer to her, which gave Reyna an excellent chance to spit at their feet. The gob landed right on a set of blue green toenails, in trendy rubber sandals.

  Jason yanked her up by the hair and glared sternly. “How dare you insult the Mistresses, slave girl! Beg their forgiveness at once!”

  Reyna managed a wicked smile. There was hope for the boy after all. If she could just push him a little further...

  “Eat me!” she said raising her head to face her stupid, moronic tormentors.

  The whip struck savagely. Jason wasted no time administering three quick disciplinary strokes. Having reached her toleration point, she eyed the blondes. “Forgive me, Mistresses. Please forgive me.”

  More giggles followed.

  “Now beg them to abuse you, slave girl,” Jason commanded.

  “Please Mistresses,” she repeated, “I beg you to abuse me as you see fit.”

  “They will, slave,” Jason promised. “But first, allow me to introduce you. These are Mistresses Kimmy and Missy. Ladies, meet, Reyna, your pain slut for the evening.”

  “This is so weird,” said Kimmy, the taller one, a honey blonde, dressed in a short white skirt and clingy top. The other, Missy, was shorter and sported aqua shorts and a halter-top. Her hair was more golden and done up in a braid. It was Missy who had the funky nail polish. How humiliating it would be, she thought to lick this girl’s feet and kiss them. They probably stank, too.

  “Oh, I know,” Missy chimed, sounding even more stupid than the other.

  “Mistresses, put these on the slave.” Jason handed each a nasty looking silver clip.

  “They go on the slave’s nipples,” he explained, meeting their blank stares.

  “No way!” the girls said in unison.

  “These are like little clips,” Kimmy observed. “What do you think, Missy?”

  Missy tried to convey the appearance of deep thought. “Well, they look like they’ll hurt a lot. But Reyna’s a bitch,” she shrugged. “So why not?”

  Counting to three, for togetherness, they applied the clamps. They clapped their hands and did high fives when they were done. Reyna moaned, twisting in agony.

  “Thank them for abusing your nipples, slave,” said Jason, holding her head up.

  “Thank you,” she hissed, lost in a world of her own. “Thank you for clamping my nipples.”

  Reyna writhed as Jason checked the tightness, making sure the implements cruelly claimed the fullness of the engorged nubs. Never had Reyna dreamed of such exquisite sensation—a little like the mousetrap she’d deliberately set off on her finger when
she was eight, only a million times hotter. Sexier. Cynthia had coddled her that time with the trap, but it had come at the price of a lecture on ‘curiosity and the cat’. Well, this little pussy is purring now, she thought, not to mention being on the verge of coming.

  “Oh my God,” Missy exclaimed, making a face. “She’s like sexing herself up or something.” “Gross,” Kimmy said. They exchanged mutual “yuck” noises now, pointing out that for eighteen year olds, they had a lot to learn.

  Frigid little cunts, she thought as she felt the first of the pussy juices begin to drop down her thighs. She’d say it aloud, too, but she wasn’t up for any more whipping.

  “Okay, who wants to fuck my pretty little slave?” Jason announced, fishing a bulbous purple dildo out of one of the bags.

  “I don’t care. She’s not that pretty,” Kimmy shot back, showing her jealous streak.

  Reyna smiled smugly to herself. Well, he thinks I am pretty, cunt, so deal with it.

  “I’ll do it,” Missy said, her voice going falsetto.

  Although the girl didn’t have great technique, she made up for it with mental cruelty. With no thought for Reyna’s readiness, she shoved it inside in one motion.

  “We’re better than you,” she declared, holding the dildo at arm’s length as she rammed it in and out. “Our families built this town. When we get older, we’ll be respectable wives and mothers and career women, and you’ll just be a street whore.”

  “A crack whore,” Kimmy corrected. “That’s a joke,” she informed Reyna, grabbing one of the clamps. “Why aren’t you laughing?”

  Reyna cried out in misery, forcing Jason to come up from behind and cover her mouth with his hand. She leaned against him pitifully, and he held her, just for a few seconds, but he did it so tenderly she wanted to cry.