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Chapter 4: "A Timetable for Domination"
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I went back upstairs and made myself a coffee, thinking of my slave,
of the plans I had made and of "Phantom Bob." As the scent of warm
Java spread about the kitchen I sat and reviewed the days events.
Months ago, when a real living and breathing Caroline was just a wet
dream, I had planned out the first few days with my new slave. I had
foreseen her fear, her anger and her attempts to escape. I had
planned for each in turn molding her reactions and my responses into a
mental document I called (with a typical writer's flare) "A Timetable
for Domination." It started with the preparation for the kidnapping
ebbed and flowed through the snatch and the training and the bondage
and the sex to a scene that was painted so vividly in my mind's eye
that it seemed almost real.

Slave and I would enter a fashionable New York night club (dressed in
tasteful fetishwear naturally). I would spy Samantha at the bar and
signaling Slave to come close (she always walks two steps behind as a
sign of respect for her master) I instruct her to seduce Sam by any
means possible. Slave (she hasn't answered to Caroline in so long she
doesn't even recognize the name) smiles and happily complies, this is
far from the worse thing I've ever asked her to do and the thought of
disobeying never crosses her carefully conditioned mind. Later I would
reveal myself to Sam forcing her to do unspeakable humiliating things
less I publish the photos of her lesbian fling. The circle would be
complete, capturing Caroline to enact my revenge on Sam. Then using
her to get that revenge. But of course that was fantasy and reality
wasn't proving to be that simple.

In my mental timetable things were certain and secure her reactions
easy to envisage. First would be denial, a refusal to face up to
the kidnapping and her new position as my sex slave. This sort of
thing wasn't supposed to happen to her! This happened to bad
girls who talked to strangers or accepted candy, or hitchhiked. She
had avoided everything that her mother had warned her about and yet
she was still bound and gagged, chained up in a guy's basement and
forced to do.... things. I'd figured this attitude would probably
persist for a few days then I expected her to redouble her attempts at
escape. Then slowly would come acceptance and a listless despair.
Finally under the strict domination and conditioning she would adapt
and begin to accept her new life as my slave. I firmly expecting to
be able to take her on our fated club date inside of two years.

Yet the "Phantom Bob incident had worried me. I wasn't stupid I'd
always realized that there would be a degree of variation in my plans
once there was a real woman in the equation but I'd been surprised at
how little trouble she's given me overall. She'd been kidnapped less
than twenty four hours, I'd expected more of a fight until she
accepted the hopelessness of her situation. That acceptance was the
first step towards truly breaking her. I'd wanted it to be long and
slow so that when it came the despair would be that much greater. Yet
whenever I pushed her she seemed to back down and like a reed in the
wind without resistance I couldn't break her.

I'd expected her to try and signal "Bob" had thrilled with the
thoughts of despair that would grip her when she failed and above all
had looked forward to punishing her disobedience. The dirty scheme
that had been festering in the back of my mind since I read her mail
that morning had started to pull together ideas and plans that I'd
reserved for later. The whole thing was just so obvious, so perfectly
simple and yet inescapable that I just had to do it, but for it to
work I needed an excuse to punish her.

Over the past few months I'd read a lot of bondage fiction. Every time
I stopped off in New York for dungeon supplies I'd included a magazine
or two and a few videos for "research" purposes. One of the real dumb
things that these stories tend to say is that there is always a reason
to punish the slave. "The slave is always guilty," is a favorite line,
written by a guy whose closest link with slavery is the pittance he
pays his models. In truth you should never punish the slave for
nothing, you are trying to impress your values on her, they must
always be consistent. Obedience means reward, even if the reward is
something she had as a right in her former life like spending time
ungagged. Disobedience means punishment, you can always substitute a
lesser punishment than the one you threaten and you can offer the
possibility of redemption or reduction in exchange for some service
but in general if she's bad she's punished.

The secret (if there is one) is to treat the slave as you would a dog.
Tell her she's a clever slave when she obeys and always do something
in recognition. Punish or withhold something when she's bad, but only
when she's bad. There are guys who beat their dogs constantly, this
results in nervous anxious dogs. Then there are guy's who beat their
women constantly and they have nervous anxious women. Strangely it's
rare for either dog or woman to run away from such people, I still
haven't figured out why.

In my case I needed an excuse to punish Caroline, any excuse would
have done but for whatever reason I needed her to know that *SHE* was
responsible . This could be no arbitrary action of mine she must have
done something to deserve it. It's a strangely human failing that
someone is more likely to do something they wouldn't ordinarily do in
order to make amends rather than to do you a favor. Right now
I needed her apprehensive and willing to please if my new plan was to
work.

I flicked on the video camera and watched as she lay on the bed. I was
again immediately hard and as I sat and drank the warm dark liquid I
got more and more excited until in the end I was forced to shut down
the monitor and think of other things, like photography.

One of the fringe benefits of living with an editor at Vogue is your
access to models, designers and photographers. One of the few people
I met through Sam who I really liked was a talented fashion
photographer called Andy Pearson. Most people probably haven't even
heard of him but if you have ever glanced at the cover of a fashion
magazine while waiting in line at the checkout chances are you've seen
his work. Andy is a guy's guy, a big brash New Zealander who came to
New York via the far east and a large chunk of Europe. He is also one
of that growing club of Sam's cast offs. In fact it was he who helped
me pick up the pieces after the wedding was canceled. I really don't
know how I could have managed without his help and in the process he
became my best friend. If Andy is a great guy he's a
brilliant photographer. With seeming ease he juggles the twenty or so
variables necessary to make a good photo, great. His pictures make
his models beautiful and show off the clothes to maximum effect. A
classic "Pearson" has a spontaneity about it that makes a carefully
posed piece look like the kind of shot you would take of your
girlfriend on an outing (well it *would* be if you were a top
photographer, and she was a supermodel). What he does he does so
well that at least one magazine calls the cover photo, which is of
course the most important in any issue, the "Pearson shot". I've seen
him coax fantastic poses out of young girls just starting in the
business then slap down a "difficult" supermodel in successive
breaths. He moves, molds and commands women in a way that few BDSM
Doms could even hope to match.

In the way friends do we started to take interest in each others
work. Through him my interest in photography expanded. I have always
prided myself that I am a good photographer, and as my friends have
married I have had enough invites "suggesting" that I might bring a
camera to confirm this. Andy however transformed that. He has a love
for the technology of photography and as time went on I taught him how
to use computers and he taught me the tricks of the pro's. The
fusion of our skills produced something that little bit different and
was exactly what I would need if my plan was to succeed.

For my plan needed photos, some the cheery snapshots to send to the
Conway's, some more hardcore. Some would have to look *very*
professional, some like they were taken by a talentless hack. With
all the complexity for a second I considered giving Andy a call and
asking his advice. Trouble was that he loved this kind of stuff and
if he could I just knew he would invite himself over. So in the end I
consulted the local yellow pages and found a list of photo suppliers
in the nearest town. I would have to use what he taught me and just
wing the rest.

I ate a light lunch, one of those pizza bag things that I'd bought
with the idea of eating cold on the road. Needless to say it was
disappointing but I suppose it hit the spot. I checked on Caroline,
who was still sobbing on the bed, then locked up and went to the
garage. Inside was a large Chevy van that I'd bought because my main
car, a 1958 Triumph TR2, doesn't have much carrying space. The van was

a sort of half conversion, it was carpeted and had a couple of
captain's chairs but with the exception of a largish bench seat
on one side everything was removable for maximum cargo capacity.
I backed out, careful to miss both the roadster and the big old car
I'd used for the kidnapping. I looked upon it with some regret, it
was a large powerful landboat that had been a pleasure to drive but
my safety came first. I had already made arrangements to scrap
the car and intended to watch it being crushed so that I was sure that
the evidence was destroyed. For now I locked up the garage and headed
for town.

The first two photography stores I tried were closed, New England not
being as good for Sunday shoppers as some places. The next had nothing
that I needed and I was starting to regret not calling around first.
However eventually, late in the afternoon, I found somewhere that
could supply at least my basic needs. I spent about two hundred
dollars mainly on film and paper and got a referral to another shop
which catered to the local pro photographic circuit. The rest would
have to wait until tomorrow though I had a hunch that I would have
plenty of time. A quick detour to one of those DIY warehouses got me
all the other things I needed.

I arrived home with some apprehension half expecting a police car in
the drive. Of course it wasn't there, the house was undisturbed and a
quick check on my guest confirmed that she was ok and was even
managing an afternoon nap. I put on another pot of coffee and started
in earnest. I refrigerated the film and prepped a camera then took off
downstairs to ready the "studio".

I worked most of the afternoon putting up shower curtains and
dustsheets to disguise the dungeon walls and cover the furniture. I
set up lights and placed a camera on a tripod in preparation. Finally
at about 7PM I was ready for my model.

She awoke as I came into the room and said something behind the gag. I
freed her from the wire, and checked her bonds, giving her time to get
frustrated before removing the muzzle. She wanted to know what was
going on, why I'd left her, what would happen next. I was starting to
wish I could keep her gagged but the plan required that she should be
able to speak so without answering anything I took her back into the
dungeon. She blinked as we stepped through the doors, the lights in
her room automatically dim to a level that lets the surveillance
cameras work but allows her to sleep. Stepping from that twilight
into the glare of the photofloods caught her off balance.

"Master, what's all this for?"
"For you slave," I answered innocently, "We're going to take a few
pictures."
I watched her swallow, her eyes panned around the room to the small
table I'd set up near the camera. I'd put an array of vibrators,
dildos and floggers out for her inspection, it didn't take a genius to
figure out what kind of pictures these were to be.
"No," She said, "I can't."
"*I* slave? I thought we had this discussion last night," I said
starting to up the pressure.
She paused, her brain going through the mental gymnastics necessary
to convert the sentence into a more acceptable form, when she finally
spoke I had to admit she'd done a pretty good job.
"Master, your slave, she really can't..... Please."
"*MY* slave can and will do what I order her to," I said deliberately
pouring as much menace as I could into my voice. "She's a slut whore,
she likes doing slut whore kinds of things. Right now all this whore
wants to do is jam this dildo up her crack while I take pictures.
Isn't that true slut?" Her eyes filled with tears, "Please......" I
pulled her close and stuck two fingers in her cunt, with her hands
still cuffed behind her there was little she could do.
"Isn't that true!"
She nodded wordlessly, my other hand started to massage one of her
latex covered tits and was surprised to find the nipple already hard.

"Why don't you say it slut."
"Your slave..."
"NO!" I shouted, "Say this whore."
"The..the..this whore...."
".....Wants to jam this rubber fuck toy up her crack until she cums."
"Wha..."
"...Wants to do this 'cause she's a cheap painted slut. Who needs to
fuck. Anything will do as long as there's a tool inside her."
She stood there, mouth working silently, tears once again in full
flow. I continued to massage cunt and tit.
"Does that feel good slave," I asked watching the confusion on her
face, "You know why don't you? It's because you're a whore, you like
being used by men don't you?"
Still silence.
"You wanted to know why I took you? It's because the first time I saw
you I thought, now there goes one hot little slut I'll bet she
fucks like a train." My hands continued but this wasn't a gentle
teasing, this was an all out degrading grope. I pulled her close while
burying more of my gloved fingers in her wet pussy.
"I noticed the way you suck whore. You may be a parson's daughter but
you ain't no choir girl. Now tell me, did you get that good playing
nurse with the local farm boys or did you have an evening job I didn't
know about?"
I watched her intently, there still wasn't the reaction I'd expected,
she cried, she whimpered but she didn't fight back. I needed a method
to push this further but I couldn't think of a suitable way.

"Say it!" I hissed, "Tell me that you are a cheap slut."
"I..I'm a chea...."
"This whore!!"
"Th...is whore...."
"Sexy slave, say it sexy! I want you to pant in out like a bitch in
heat! I want you to sound like the filthy little tart you really are."
I grabbed a huge black rubber dildo from the table and waved it in
front of her startled eyes.
"Beg me for it slave! Nice and sexy I want you to tell me what a
worthless whore you are, and how you'll do anything to have this up
your crack."

She started, stammering to fit all I'd wanted into the sentence, tears
in full flow. Disappointed I decided to let her finish and snap a few
photo's for the collection in any case. Now her eye's were adjusted
to the light she had started to scan the dungeon. Most was covered
with dust cloths to hide it's true nature all except for one corner
which I'd been deliberately set dressing so it looked more like
dungeons in TV shows. By that I mean that I'd fastened bits and
pieces of bondage paraphernalia to the gridwork on the wall. There
were leather masks, gags, hoods, cuffs and harnesses all strapped to
the wall in a hap hazard fashion. Caroline's eyes flickered from one
to the other deducing each time what they were used for and realizing
with certainty that they had been bought to use on her. Finally her
eyes had rested on one harness arrangement that I'd bought on the spur
of the moment just before I'd gone to pick her up.

I must confess to always liking the idea of girl on girl action.
One of the contingency's that had worked it's way into the
"timetable" prior to the kidnapping had been the idea of the capture
being discovered by another girl, perhaps a coworker, and my
having to overpower and take her too so that she couldn't identify me.
It was in truth a fantasy, a wet dream, I cared too much for life and
liberty to have risked a casual discovery. Yet the fantasy had been
so strong that I'd even taken along an extra cuff and gag set just in
case. It had also caused me to buy this item on impulse. The owner
of the sex shop had called it a "Lezbo Harness", simply this is a very
long dildo fastened to a pair of strap on leather panties. One half
of the dildo goes in one girl and she uses the second half to fuck a
friend and all the rocking back and forth brings them both off. Lot's
of people wouldn't recognize one if they saw it, but the strange look
on Caroline's face told me she knew exactly what it was. I didn't
know what the story was but I could tell she didn't like it. Her
concentration was broken and she stammered to a halt.

And in that second I had an inspiration.
"Pathetic slave," I said forcing my face close to hers, " I hope
your sister is better."
"M..my sister?"
"Yes, Anna isn't it?" I asked coolly, "Quite a well developed girl for
sixteen. She's obviously a little whore as well. When I found out
about her I got to thinking what a wonderful matched set you two
would make. Anna looks like a goer, I bought that harness today so
that I could see just how you two would do together. You know
sisterly love and all that"

She looked stunned, shaken, I pressed my advantage.
"I know where she lives, know where she goes to school. Being a farm
girl you must know just how quiet the country is, how many lonely
places she must walk through every day. Compared to you she'll be
easy. Were you comfortable in my trunk? She's got further to travel
than you have so if you have any suggestions on how we can make her
more comfortable do speak up."
Caroline went white, I continued to fondle her. "Just imagine how
ironic it will be that the first your parents will know about your
disappearance is when they try to tell you that I've kidnapped your
sister." I smiled and made a dismissive gesture, "You know I think
you're right, we'll hold off on these photo's until Anna gets here."
I snapped my fingers (not easy when you're wearing gloves), " I know,
we'll send a couple of prints to your mother, a momento to console her
in this time of loss!" By now I was in a really evil frame of mind.
"How about the two of you bound and gagged to the wall.... Better yet
she's bound and gagged and you are eating out her pussy.... NO! of
course, she's bound and gagged wearing the harness, you're kneeling
bound and gagged in front of her and she's reaming your ass out!"

I leered at her, "Has to be one for the album. Eh slave?" By now her
tears where in full flow and through the hand I had buried in her
pussy I felt her body tremble. "NO!" She screamed and kicked me
knocking herself off balance and teetering on the tall stiletto heels.
She would have fallen but for the hand I had inside her. Sure it was
painful, but the hobble was still in place and so the kick had no
real power. She caught her breath almost immediately, a look of
horror spreading across her face as she realized the enormity of what
she'd just done. She now knew that I could be brutal if pushed and
that look told me that she'd remembered the incident with the gag that
morning. "Please.... I'... this whore... is sorry." She must have
seen the anger in my eyes. "Please master......this whor..re will
obey. Please don't hurt me!" I dragged her towards the cell, she
hesitated, her position was helpless, she couldn't resist and if she
tried she risked further punishment. Yet part of her mind told her
that if she was lead back to that cell she would have no way to
defuse the situation. She sort of half fought as I returned her to
the cell and reattached the wire to her collar. She begged, pleaded
and wept as I filled a plastic beaker with water and brought it over.
She was in full panic offering herself, any photo I wanted, anything
at all, because she said she'd remembered that the penalty for
attacking me was disfigurement and the incident with the gag this
morning had convinced her that I would carry through.

Now it was my turn to be shocked. My mind flashed back through
everything I had told her about Rule 1 and the cost of disobedience. I
could remember telling her something about threatening my safety but
by that I'd meant trying to escape or seriously hurt me. Knocks and
kicks I'd expected in the early days which was one of the reasons for
the hobble. Somehow in her terror she'd misunderstood. She was
heading towards hysteria and I almost considered correcting her but
then she was rapidly approaching the frame of mind I would need for
the plan. In the end I got her to drink then offered the ball to her.
She wanted to talk, to plicate while there was still time
but she also knew the penalty for refusing the gag. Terrified she
opened her mouth and I gagged her fastening the strap a little tighter
than was strictly necessary to reinforce my "anger". The moment I
let go she rubbed her gagged mouth against my arm, making little
noises, begging wordlessly for it's removal. I rechecked her bonds
and made to leave she continued to whine, eyes huge, imploring.

I looked down on her, "Sleep slave," I said, "Don't worry about the
punishment, it will come soon enough."
Then without looking back, I left securing the door behind me; and
breathing a huge sigh of relief. It had taken a lot of effort but
finally I had her where I needed her. Alone in her cell her mind was
already magnifying her crime and it's imagined punishments.
By tomorrow she would be ready.

I worked on until about ten, mainly doing preparatory desktop
publishing work upstairs. Like all writers I've built up a hoard of
unused material against the day when tight schedules or the dreaded
writers block would leave me without copy. The kidnapping had been in
the planning stages for several months and during that time I'd been
collecting idea's and information in a similar way. I had a
collection of things I'd intended to send to the Conways to make them
believe Caroline was elsewhere. One of these, a holdout I'd only
intended to use if they seemed to be going to the police, now had a
more cunning use that would hopefully ensure that they would
never know their daughter was missing. Finishing up I visited
the cell before going to bed. The cameras were well hidden and there
was some benefit in making her believe that I needed to check on her
personally . The tight gag was giving her trouble so after giving her
another drink (during which she was warned not to speak), I refastened
it in a loose hap hazard kind of way. Again she rubbed her mouth
against me and again I refused to ungag her and talk. I left and went
to bed.

Next morning I was up bright and early. A quick camera check showed
her asleep in her cell. During the night she'd managed to work the
gag off, not a difficult task as the ball can be rolled over the lower
jaw even when the strap is quite tight. Tutting to myself I collected
the post and answered my Email.

I headed down to the dungeon. I'd done a lot of preparation work
already, it's transformation into an impromptu photographic studio was
almost completed and with the exception of some more equipment my
primary need was for a little attitude adjustment for my principle
model.

I paused to collect some things from the cabinet and to lower one of
the pulleys attached to the ceiling. I'd intended this rig to be used
for a really big punishment and had everything necessary to suspend
my slave several feet above the ground. For now however all I needed
to do was keep her uncomfortable.

She woke with a start as I entered the room.
"What's the meaning of this slave?"
"Meaning?"
She was obviously a little slow in the mornings. I waved the ball
under her nose.
"I left you gagged slave, I expect to find you gagged when I return is
that clear?"
She nodded silently.
"I left it loose last night so that you could sleep easier and you
repay my kindness like this!"
"It hurt...."
"I know lots of other things that hurt slave," I said menacingly, "As
you'll discover later."
"Master please, I didn't mean to kick you!"
"I'd thought it over last night and I *WAS* thinking of giving you a
break...."
"Oh yes, please master."
"Then I find you've disobeyed me again."
She looked downhearted. I was generally pleased, she was starting to
call me master with none of the self-conscious hesitation that had
troubled her the day before. For the time being I was letting up on
her use of *I* but when *MASTER* became totally natural to her I would

insist that she call herself *SLAVE* to emphasize our relative
positions and the name Caroline would begin to be wiped from her
mind. For the time being I gave her a drink then freed her hands.

"Loose the top," I said.
For a second or two she seemed confused. Then realizing, she slipped
her way out of the tight latex bustier, letting her breasts swing
free. She was about to remove the latex stockings but I stopped her.
Instead I had her tighten the little draw strings in the tops that
held them up without the garters. I think she was in a dilemma, happy
to be out of the sweaty rubber she had worn for nearly two days but
apprehensive that her torso was now naked. I had her use the toilet
then fastened her hands, gagged her and lead her into the dungeon.

I'd left a pile of straps and rods on the table and the look on
her face told me that she didn't know what they were. The look of
fear told me that she didn't want to find out. Amongst the pile the
only obvious things were the snap on leather panties, butt plug and
vibrator. Remembering the day before she gave me no trouble,
spreading her legs when asked, in return I paid more attention to her
pussy than was strictly necessary to lubricate the vibrator. A
couple of snaps later and the tight leather panties held both
intruders firmly in place. The vibration levels where set high enough
to keep her occupied but not quite enough for her to get off.
Still she had started an involuntary squirming by the time I got to
the next item. For this I laid her on the floor then started by tying
one of her ankles to one of the rods that formed the strange
apparatus. I think at first she thought it was a standard spreader
bar despite it's length. She only started to see the truth when I
tied the other end along her opposing thigh rather than the ankle. I
roped the end to her leg just below the knee then used another line to
tie the ankles together. It's complicated to explain but in essence I
had tied her in the standard "kneeling to propose" stance. One high
heeled boot was planted flat on the ground, leg rising vertically to
the knee which was bent. Along the thigh of this leg a rod was tied
and it's far end attached to the other ankle. The other leg rested on
it's knee unbound until the ankle was tied to the rod. A cord between
vertical ankle and horizontal ankle held her legs in a rigid
triangle.

She realized immediately that this was very uncomfortable and tried to
struggle into a better position but of course there wasn't one. I
removed collar and gag, she knew better than complain guessing that
this was one of the punishments I'd promised. I gathered her hair
back into a ponytail to keep it out of the way then started fitting
her with a head harness. First up was the gag, a large dense sponge
ball attached to a strap. She gave me no trouble, opening up as it
approached. I stuffed the rubber into her open mouth then tightened
the chin strap, this ball wasn't slipping out. It took a while to fit
everything but when finished a nest of straps covered her head in such
a way as to hold the ball in her mouth and then clamp her jaw closed
around it. As an experiment I seized one of her nipples and squeezed
hard, almost no sound emerged from behind the straps though her tear
filled eyes where full of pain. The harness was obviously too
complicated to fit quickly but if I ever needed to transport her any
distance this would keep her quiet enough to hide almost anywhere.
In addition to the gag the harness had several mountings for other
things like additional blindfolds, but two large buckles at the back
were designed for attaching to a special posture collar. The collar
was fitted to a rod which in turn snapped into the rod used to secure
the legs. Fastening harness to collar, and collar to rod held the
head firmly in place and meant that any tension in the head harness
was transmitted directly to the rods and not the wearer. This was
needed because the harness had a suspension loop on the top of the
head. I attached this to the pulley in the ceiling then pulled
everything tight. As an afterthought I used some spare cord to tie
her wrists and elbows to the vertical rod then stood back and viewed
my handiwork.

She rested fitfully, all her weight on one high heeled foot and one
knee, tied into a rigid triangle. Her gloved arms were pulled back
along the supporting rod, dragging shoulders back and thrusting naked
breasts outwards. It was a tight uncomfortable position but very
little complaint could emerge from her well packed mouth. In fact as
she stood there and the little beads of sweat broke out across her
exposed skin the most prominent sound came from the vibrator, pressed
hard against the taught leather panties and using them as a sounding
board. The bondage seemed to have robbed her even of control of her
internal muscles, for despite the dribble of juices that had started
down her leg and the tiny almost negligible thrusting of her
pelvis, the vibrator did none of the ins and outs of the day before.

I left her like that for a few minutes then added the blindfold and a
pair of earplugs. Alone in her sensory deprivation with only the pain
for company I left her to contemplate the cost of disobedience.

I busied myself cleaning the cell and changing the toilet, once I
paused briefly and ran my gloved palm over the hard nub of one of her
erect nipples. I thought I heard a sigh, though her gag was so tight
that seems unlikely, in any case her fingers flexed briefly in
response, that being the only movement she could make. For a while I
just sat and watched her as the droplets of sweat rolled over the
uncovered portion of her torso. I became aware of the tiny gasps and
moans that escaped her mouth, sound that would have been screams and
groans but for the gag. For I was in no doubt that she was in agony,
the human body is designed to move and we twist and turn even in
sleep, to be held so rigidly in one position starts out uncomfortable
and rapidly becomes torture. Almost all of her weight was on one heel
and one knee, her shoulders pulled painfully back. Deaf and dumb,
blind and bound her only active senses where filled by pain.

I paused a moment, then went upstairs and called the photography shop
I'd been referred to the day before, placing an order for immediate
pickup. Then I started into breakfast. Usually I'm a cereal man, the
day is too short to waste cooking breakfast, but on this occasion I
started into a full spread including pancakes and syrup. As I poured
a fresh coffee I was for some reason reminded of the "Phantom Bob"
episode of the day before. Puzzled I walked over to the large couch
and pulled it away from the wall. Here was the spot where Caroline
had laid during the recording, her position marked by the tiny
depressions made by her stiletto heels in the new carpet. Out of
curiosity I put down the cup, picked up the remote and lay as she
had. I punched in the code and closed my eyes using only the sound
and feel as a guide. The recording was perfect, I lay there until the
toast started to burn but could find not one thing wrong. I got up
even more confused yet the truth was the truth, she had been given a
chance to escape but had decided to obey me, her kidnapper, her rapist
instead.

I made breakfast, eggs, sausage, bacon, toast with pancakes and syrup
and a new mug of coffee. Putting everything on a tray I headed down
to the dungeon. I knew that she could smell the food, though of course
she could give no physical indication in her current condition. I
busied myself preparing table and chair then went over to her. It had
been about an hour since I'd left her but it was clear that it had
been long enough. I released the pulley then freed her legs but left
her hands bound to the vertical rod and the head harness in place. I
helped her up, it took a couple of minutes before she could stand
unaided, then I led her to the table. Still staggering a little and of
course still blindfolded she needed my help for support and guidance
her naked torso pressed against mine, and suddenly I was hard again.

When we reached the table I sat down first dragging her on to my lap
careful to avoid the trailing bar. I looked at her. The harness
framed her pretty face with black leather with only the gag and
blindfold intruding on her features. Her mouth was clamped firmly
around the ball, lips wide, frozen in silent exclamation, her stifled
tears flowed behind the mask of the blindfold and ran down the
contours of her cheek. Gently I reached up and unsnapped the
blindfold from it's fastenings, she blinked as sight was restored and
her red eyes fought to focus.

"Glad you could join me slave," I said courteously. The collar
prevented head movement so she bent over slightly to see the contents
of the tray. She said something too faint and muffled to make out but
then her stomach growled so loud it shocked us both. I reached up
and massaged an exposed breast, she tried to pull back but was too
restricted. In the end she just sat stiffly to attention as I ran my
gloved hand over her breasts across her tight stomach and down between
her legs. The vibrator was still hard at it and I could feel her ass
wiggle in unison with the butt plug so I left them in place and
instead massaged the inside of her thigh. Only the subtle change in
her breathing betrayed what was going on inside her bound body.

Satisfied I started into breakfast. I think I'd managed my third
mouthful by the time she realized the gag was staying in and that
none of the meal was for her. Still tightly bound and gagged there
was little she could do but sit and watch as I wolfed it down. I
deliberately ignored her small movements, her only other option was to
kick me and that is what had got her into this mess in the first
place. Frustrated she watched me eat until only the pancakes were
left. I waved a fork full across her face just to get her reaction.
I deliberately didn't finish but instead turned to her.

"Didn't think I'd forgotten did you slave?" She of course had no
way to answer. I picked up the little jug of syrup and very slowly
dribbled some on to her exposed breasts. It was cold, she jumped a
little, but in the end she had two little streams of brown running
down her chest and over the hard brown buds of her nipples. I started
to lick it off. At first I think she was outraged to be denied food
then used as a plate. Yet as I pressed on she became visibly aroused,
closing her eyes and arching her back even more than it was already.
She was panting and just a little flushed when I got the last drop.
She was so distracted I don't think she saw the blindfold in my hand
until it was snapped in place. I lead her back to the rest of the
apparatus and started to reapply it, I think she was tempted to
struggle but realized it was useless. In five minutes she was back on
one leg and the torture began afresh.

I went back upstairs then headed to town for my supplies. I made a
significant purchase, enough to get the attention of the manager. We
chatted and I fed him a line about being a keen amateur wanting to
branch out into the pro circuit. As I suspected he had connections
with several local modeling agencies and he kept small portfolios so
that photographers could choose their models. I went through the books
picking models that could pass for Caroline at varying distances and
noting their details. One girl in particular caught my eye, her name
was Vicky and with the exception of her hair color she matched
Caroline in build and looks. I took careful notes then collected my
supplies and returned home.