Having It All
by Jurgen von Stuka
Featuring: Bondage Brokers & Complicity
ISBN:
978-1-938897-62-7
A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication
Copyright © 2014, All rights reserved
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.
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Bondage Brokers
Preface
The pretty young thing, a true masochist, is writhing and crying while tied to the post, screaming: “Beat me. Whip me. Punish me.”
The sadist unwinds his horse whip and gets ready to whip her tight, lovely ass.
“You want to be whipped?” he asks.
“Oh yes, please. Do it now. Please.”
“You want to be punished? To be truly tormented. To suffer?”
“Oh yes. God, yes. Please beat me,” she cries.
“No.”
Who is really in control? Who is the top in this scenario: The one on the post or the one who knows that the real mental torment will come when he walks away, leaving her taunt young body untouched?
The thin line between legal and illegal BDSM is often a matter of adult consent and the unfortunate stereotype for bondage literature usually involves victims who do not consent to being tied, gagged, chained and otherwise forced to submit to restraint and punishment. The tops and doms are almost always nasty and disinterested in the subject’s needs or desires. The subs and bottoms are at least initially unwilling, endlessly tormented and usually have a hopeless future.
There are, of course, always exceptions to these premises. This particular tale takes you to a different place: one where the fundamental premise is that everyone, subs and doms, has an erotic good time. They may not like the music, but they all want to dance.
Stereotypical dominant and submissive roles are blurred by modern reality. If the dominant person does what the sub wants, is he or she still dominant? If the sub gets what he or she wants, are they still submissive?
Places like the mountain camp that Frank and Ellen own are well within the possible. But for the owner and customer alike, caveat emptor strictly applies. Once you buy in, you may not be able to buy your way out.
Chapter One
Patty Goes To Camp
Patty cried.
She cried for her lousy life, for her lost boyfriend and for help, but no one heard her. The heavy metal cuffs around her wrists chafed her fair skin and the gag and blindfold weren’t helping dispel the feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, she had made a bad decision to join her friends for the weekend here at this end of the earth camp in the middle of nowhere.
How did I get into this? she thought. How did I get here?
Up until now her life had been relatively private. Now her most secret secrets were being exploited in depth.
She remembered leaving the office with Ellen. And she remembered the reason why she had finally agreed to go with them. But now none of this made any sense. She was tired, confused and her wrists hurt. Her ankles hurt. Her head hurt.
Her wrists hurt because they were chained to a hoist on the distant ceiling and her feet were chained to the floor and she wasn’t going anywhere without some help. Her hands were high over her head, joined by heavy steel cuffs attached to chains fastened to the electric hoist mounted on the wide wooden beam in the ceiling of the underground room. Her ankles were spread wide with a heavy metal bar that had the same metal cuffs at each end. The bar was chained to a ring mounted in the cement floor. She had been standing there for hours, her mouth plugged with a wad of cloth held in place with duct tape. Her eyes were covered with cloth and tape. She was naked. Her clothes were long gone and she had no idea where they were now. The room was warm and humid.
Patty was depressed because her boyfriend of the last few months, Steven, had dumped her without ceremony, simply saying that he was bored with the relationship and announcing at the same moment that he was taking a cruise with the family. And that was the end of it.
Sitting at her desk in the big office on 45th Street in the heart of New York City, Patty had wondered what she was going to do with the four day weekend/holiday. And then, out of nowhere, her friend, Ellen, stopped by the cubicle and offered a suggestion.
“Frank and I are going up to The Camp in the mountains for a few days,” she said. “And we want you to come with us.”
“Nah,” Patty said without even thinking about it. “You two don’t need a third wheel.”
“Well, my dear,” responded Ellen with a bit of sarcasm in her voice, “the fact is that we do need you. You can entertain us and help with the driving. You’ll get some exercise out in the fresh mountain air. You’ll meet some new people who don’t live in the big city and you might even learn something. I guarantee that you’ll stay for the weekend once you get up there.” That guarantee was more of a clue than Patty could have imagined at the time. Now she understood.
“I don’t have anything with me but gym clothes and these,” Patty said, pointing to her “casual Friday” jeans and sweater outfit that looked like it was three sizes too big for her. Her neatly manicured fingers just barely stuck out from the too long cuffs of the sweater. Some moron in the store had convinced her that too long sleeves were “fashionable.” In hind sight, she thought they were a neat way to wear out a sweater much faster. Besides, the long sleeves did hide the rope marks on her wrists.
“Hey, Patty, wake up, Kiddo,” Ellen shouted and thumped on the metal wall of the cubicle. Patty realized that for a moment, she had lapsed off into a day dream. She had been thinking about the thin red bands on her wrists, self-inflicted with the thin nylon parachute cord that she used to tie herself in bed the night before. That had been an adventure, she thought. If it hadn’t been for a weak joint on the bed frame, she might still be there, self-bound and gagged in bed until God knows when.
“Hey,” said Ellen again “You are going to come with us, so get your shit together and let’s get out of here.”
Ellen was always the dominant figure in the relationship and this questionable personal quality intimidated Patty and others in the office. She did this by using her stunningly good looks, sharp mouth and precocious nature. She was also, according to the office grapevine, actively involved with things that the work crew sometimes referred to as “kinky stuff.” Most of her fellow workers did not know or care. It was just office gossip. Patty knew about this, but played ignorant, not wanting to show any interest.
“Ellen,” Patty whined. “I really am not up for camping for three or four days.”
She knew very well from photos she had seen, that the camp in the Adirondacks was not some creaky, leaky old log cabin rotting in the forest. The camp, as it was called, had about as much resemblance to a rustic retreat as the millionaires “cottages” that lined the Newport, Rhode Island beaches or the “little apartment I keep in the City” that many suburbanites used in reference to their East Side penthouses in Manhattan. In other words, Patty and most of the office knew that Frank and Ellen had inherited from his parents the vast property, deep in the mountains and surrounded by National Forest. They used their sizable wealth to expand and develop the house into a luxury alternate residence. Going there was not roughing it by a long shot.
But Patty still resisted.
“Besides,” she whined. “On Tuesday, I am going to my high school reunion in Buffalo, so I really need to pack and get ready for that.”
“You’ll have plenty of time for reunion packing, Patty. We’ll bring you home early on Monday. Or, we can take you to the train. Now get your stuff and let’s hightail it out of here, Frank is waiting.”
“Oh, alright. What do I need?” Patty caved in and picked up her gym bag and purse. “Maybe a weekend in the mountains will do me good.” At the last second, she opened the bottom drawer of her desk and took out a small plastic zipper make-up bag that held the basics she occasionally needed for a quick overnight.
“It will do more than that,” Ellen said under her breath as she followed Patty out the door and into the parking lot, noting, (as she always did), the slim, well proportioned figure of her friend under the disorganized pile of what looked like consignment store clothing.
By 2 o’clock they were loaded into Frank’s pride and joy, a classy new, imported SUV and on their way. Two hours into the trip, as they climbed higher into the Adirondacks, it began to snow and this slowed them down. Even though Ellen and Frank alternated driving every hour, the roads became more and more dangerous as snow and ice built up and they were afraid they might not even make the camp that night.
“I knew this would happen,” Ellen said, as she again slowed the vehicle and stayed in the right lane while other fools sped by them, intent on ending up in a snow bank or ravine when they inevitably lost control of their car. By 7 PM they had reached a turnoff from the main highway, but missed it because the snow had obscured the unmarked, small dirt road. They turned around and drove back. Then, putting the truck into four wheel drive, Ellen eased the vehicle over the plowed snow on the edge of the highway and started up the 12 mile stretch of logging road that led to another turnoff into their property. Crawling along the rutted road at about 5 miles per hour, they finally arrived at the massive stone and log structure a little before midnight. Frank got a fire started in the stone fireplace while the women made coffee and a light dinner in the kitchen. They reset the thermostats to a more comfortable temperature and the heating system quickly warmed up the huge house. Voicemails on the phone indicated that the caretakers had been there earlier but were stuck in town at least until morning. Thus, it was Frank who went through the house and nearby buildings with his flashlight and his father’s old Colt .45 pistol, making sure everything was secure and that there were no uninvited guests. He was gone a long time and when Patty asked Ellen where Frank had gone, she simply shrugged and said that he probably found something that needed attention. By one a.m., they were all in their beds and Patty said good night to her friends and quickly went to sleep.
When she woke up, she was hanging in the chains, gagged and blindfolded. Her wrists were killing her and she had to think that this was because she’d been hanging there with all of her weight suspended by her wrists. The cuffs on each wrist were thick and very heavy. Even though she couldn’t see them, she knew that they weren’t handcuffs. They were something more sophisticated than the handcuffs she occasionally used herself. The same was true for the cuffs that held her thin ankles to the spreader bar. They were heavy and thick, attached as though they were permanent.
I must have passed out, she thought, still trying feebly to free her hands and feet, mumbling through the gag and astonished that all of her clothes were gone. What the hell happened? I must be dreaming. This is one of those dreams, she thought.
Struggling with her bonds and trying to find some sort of rational explanation to her predicament, it occurred to Patty that maybe someone had been lurking in or around the cabin and had kidnapped them all as soon as they went to sleep. Another option which she didn’t want to contemplate was that this was some sort of trick or game that Ellen and Frank were playing on her. After all, she thought, they supposedly do get off on being tied up.
Time passed slowly and Patty thought she heard sounds overhead. Then there was the sound of a door being unlocked and opened, and boots coming down a flight of creaky wooden stairs.
“Hey, Patty,” she heard Ellen say happily. “Enjoying your break in period, Hon?”
“Mummph,” growled Patty into the gag, shaking her head.
“Okay. Okay, Kid, I’ll get you out of this,” Ellen said as she slowly peeled away the tape and cloth that covered Patty’s eyes. “There, how’s that?” she said cheerfully.
“Mummph ay agggg,” Patty shouted back, staring at Ellen and trying to get her eyes adjusted to the dim light in what was obviously a cellar, probably under the house, she thought.
“Chill out, Hon,” Ellen murmured, cupping Patty’s soft breasts with both hands and squeezing the nipples lightly. “Everything’s under control….and so are you. Aren’t you glad you got rid of those crappy clothes?”
Patty struggled to move away and get Ellen’s cold hands off her breasts, but there was little slack in the chains and she could only swing a bit from one side to the other.
Ellen released her grip on the hardened nipples and stepped back, surveying Patty’s hanging form as though she was looking at a new piece of furniture for her apartment. Patty suddenly realized that Ellen was no longer dressed as she had been when they arrived the night before. She now wore a tightly fitted and revealing leather body suit that looked like it had been made especially for her. Patty knew that Ellen had trouble finding clothes that fit her and that she liked. Her remarkable figure was not on any clothing designer’s mannequin. When she got to talking about it, Ellen simply referred to herself as “all tits and no ass”, which pretty much summed up her shape. As a teenager, she had been a Tom Boy, bean pole kid with no shape at all, straight from shoulder to ankles. No waist, no flared hips, no thighs that widened below the hips. She kept this figure for more than a decade and nothing changed except that suddenly, in a matter of months, she sprouted real breasts that grew faster than she could buy new bras to accommodate them. At times, according to her, she was forced to wear a bra she bought a month before and now her tits were falling out of the cups, making her look like some sudden fatty that was trying to stay in the underwear she had as a kid.