A Dangerous Man

 

By Rayron D’Olier

 

 

 

 

Phoebe sat very still. Her mind was not exactly racing, but there was plenty to think about as she assessed her feelings concerning a completely unfamiliar situation that she now found herself in. In the past two hours a sequence of events had occurred that nothing in her life had prepared her for and she was now forced to decide how she felt about it all. She was confused about what she should be doing at the moment, but was keenly aware that any action she may or may not decide upon was purely academic for the time being, because Phoebe’s hands were tied behind her back and her feet were tied together with soft, white, cotton rope. She was also gagged with a thickness of silk scarf between her teeth.

 

Her bound and gagged condition gave her a certain enforced leisure to consider what had just happened in an almost objective manner, because, as she kept reminding herself, there was nothing she could do about anything at the moment except decide how she felt in anticipation of future action.

 

Phoebe had never been tied up before and she found the sensation belied any preconceptions she had had. The ropes around her wrists and ankles caused her no pain and if she sat very still, they were not terribly noticeable, but whenever she tried to move, the ropes would simply remind her that she was quite helpless. It was almost as if Phoebe was reluctant to offend the ropes or excite their vigilance, and this caused her to sit as motionless as possible. But every few minutes or so, she would tentatively test her bonds and this would renew her feeling of disbelief at being tied up. She would even say to herself, “I am actually tied up.” This didn’t so much frighten her as it caused her to marvel at the sheer novelty of her plight. She didn’t feel threatened. The fellow who had tied her was her lover, but there was the very strange fact that he had tied her totally against her will, with no warning. He tried to reassure her, but then he had been forced to leave her alone while he carried out a most necessary errand. It was this errand and the events leading up to it that concerned Phoebe the most. These events were also why she had been tied and gagged.

 

Phoebe was a striking woman – not classically beautiful, but elegant and refined. In three months she would have her fortieth birthday, but she really looked at least six years younger in most ways. She was five feet, 10 inches and was long and willowy. Her legs were slim, but well defined from her more or less constant attempts to stay in shape. She was high waisted and her breasts were small, but still quite firm, although Phoebe now felt that a bra was no longer optional. Her feet and hands were delicate and finely shaped. They were as elegant as the rest of her and she unconsciously knew how to place them in order to create an impression of poise. Phoebe had been a product of a very fine finishing school and even with her hands and feet tied together, she nevertheless composed them as gracefully as possible without thinking about it.

 

Her face generally displayed an expression of pleasant composure. Phoebe was naturally shy, but had learned not to show it. In her youth, her height had made her feel awkward and her extremely high intelligence had made her feel somewhat of an outsider socially. Despite her undeniable social graces, Phoebe had been something of a geek as a young girl. It was hard for most people to see this, but a certain opacity of expression and a slight hunching of her shoulders could betray her insecurity to the acute observer.

 

Her face was a study in softness. Her cheeks and chin were round and almost cute. Her gray-green eyes looked a little sleepy most of the time and her nose was straight and regular. Phoebe’s hair was a mousy brown in color, but it was thick and had a lustrous shine. She wore it parted on the side most of the time and kept the long side off her face with a barrette or tortoiseshell hair band. Her hair was cut shoulder length and had a slight wave to it.

 

Like many shy, but well-bred people, Phoebe sometimes gave the impression of being just a little snobbish, and to tell the truth she did tend to keep a lot of people at arm’s length. So many of her friends, male and female, seemed to be aggressively wordy or giddy and Phoebe had constructed some passive, but quite effective, defenses against these personality traits. Phoebe was not flamboyant and didn’t quite approve of this quality in others, even when she liked them otherwise.

 

As befitted her retiring, but somewhat exact personality, Phoebe dressed with quiet good taste. At this watershed moment in her life – bound, gagged and unsure of her feelings – she was dressed for a casual, but dressy, weekend evening. She had on a pale, pink, button down blouse that was tightly fitted and had long sleeves. Her skirt was a dark brown tweed that was exactly knee-length and was held at her waist with a slim dark brown belt with a gold buckle. She had on natural color pantyhose and on her high-arched feet were low-cut brown flats with round toes and a sort of loafer-like tassel at her toes. She had a simple gold chain around her neck and little gold rings on her ears.

 

Phoebe was sitting on a couch in her own den where she had been spending the afternoon with Brody, her “boyfriend.” (Phoebe and Brody thought that the very idea of two people on either side of forty being “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” was completely ludicrous, but they hadn’t yet come up with a better term.) It was Brody that had tied her up and put the gag in her mouth and left her to sort out what had happened. She could tell he had been profoundly worried about the propriety of tying up the woman he loved, but she could also tell that he truly thought it necessary – he had said it was “for the best.”

 

So Phoebe had been tied up and now she had been sitting on her couch for an hour trying to decide how to feel about it all. She felt that she needed to come to a decision about her feelings before Brody came back and she was having a bit of stage fright about how she would behave when he returned. How would this alter their relationship? That it would alter it there was no doubt and Phoebe had to figure out her emotions.

 

She was tired of sitting still after an hour of doing so and decided to explore what it meant to be bound hand and foot and gagged. Her hands were tied at the small of her back with her forearms perpendicular to her body and her hands pointing in opposite directions. If she twisted her body and shoulders, she could just barely see how they were tied, with ropes around her wrists and then a few wrappings of rope between her wrists. She couldn’t see the knot, but she could tell from the two short, dangling ends of the rope that the knot was under her wrists. Next she stretched her legs out in front of her and looked at her feet. They were tied side by side with much the same technique as her wrists, with ropes holding her ankles together and then a cinch of rope between her ankles. Phoebe could see the knot here and it was at the top of the cinch. For the first time since she had been bound, Phoebe made an attempt at a serious struggle – pushing and alternately pulling at the ropes with her hands and feet – and found that while there was a little room for movement, there was no hope of escape. Her wrists and ankles felt as if they were encircled by soft, but solid and unyielding bands.

 

The gag was a long, black silk scarf wrapped between her teeth and around her head. Before Brody had left, she had tried to say something to him through the gag along the lines of, “Wait a minute.” She had been shocked to hear it come out as an incoherent, “Ay uh mimiph.” Phoebe had been shocked to hear herself sound like an imbecile and an hour later she was worried about the creeping dampness of the gag around her cheeks as her spit began to saturate the scarf. The gag offended Phoebe’s sense of neatness and precision, but wasn’t any more uncomfortable than the ropes.

 

“How strange to be so packaged ­– to be able to see the knots and the ropes and yet not be able to do anything to get loose. How perfectly strange to sit in my own living room completely helpless.” These thoughts ran through Phoebe’s mind along with other, more serious, ruminations. She was aware that her enforced immobility caused her to feel more calm and detached than she might otherwise. She reflected on the strange fact that merely being tied and gagged was taking her to a very unfamiliar place in her own head.

 

Phoebe’s body began to relax a little and she only realized she had slipped her feet out of her shoes when her stocking feet reacted to the coolness of the air. Without her shoes on, Phoebe became aware of a feeling of increased vulnerability and she quickly slipped her feet back into her shoes, careful not to kick them where she couldn’t reach them. Then she retreated back into her thoughts. She kept running the events leading up to her present state of captivity – for she was a captive – and each time she would assess her feelings about them. She had decided to be analytical.

 

It had all happened very quickly. Phoebe and Brody had been sitting in her den discussing what, if anything, they should do on this Saturday evening. The TV was on but with the sound muted and they had discussed going out to dinner or having her best friend, Bebe, and her husband Jack over to play cards. They had been having drinks and were relaxed. They were not terribly eager to stir from their seats. Then it happened.

 

A man in a ski mask had appeared out of nowhere, although he had obviously made his way into the house without a sound because he emerged from the long hallway that led all the way from the front door to the back of the house where the den was. The man had a gun in his hand and raised it so that it was pointing at Brody. Without the slightest hesitation and with unbelievable speed, Brody had picked up the heavy ottoman that was in front of his chair and thrown it at the man’s head. The man shot several times, but had missed because of the huge old leather ottoman flying in front of him. Close behind the ottoman, Brody had launched himself at his assailant and taken him down to the floor where he held the man’s gun hand away from him and with the other hand had belabored the man’s head with several remarkably swift blows. As the man was rendered unconscious, Brody continued to beat him on the head until he stopped moving altogether. Then he beat him several more times with what looked like precise, almost surgical blows. Phoebe had been transfixed during these rapid events and merely leaned forward in tense indecision. From the man entering the room until Brody rose from the floor, standing over the man’s motionless form took less than thirty seconds.

 

Phoebe had been the first to speak. In a whisper she said, “What happened?”

 

Brody turned to her and said, “I know who this is, or rather who sent him, but I can’t explain now. I’m pretty sure I’ve killed him.”

 

Phoebe felt that she was in a fever dream. Brody had just calmly informed her that he thought he had killed a man – a man in a mask that Brody claimed to know.

 

Phoebe said with surprising calmness, taking her cue from Brody, “Well, just call the police. This is a perfectly obvious case of self defense.”

 

Brody had bent down to the body and was checking the man’s pulse. Then he rolled the ski mask back from the man’s face and looked closely at his lifeless, staring eyes. Without looking at Phoebe he said, “No police, sweetie. We cannot inform the police.”

 

Phoebe was more shocked by this than she had been by the actual events, “What do mean no police? We’ve got to call the police. We’ve got to call them now. If you won’t, I will!”

 

Brody turned to Phoebe and his eyes probed hers. He said as if informing her of the immutable facts of the universe, “We will not inform any of the constituted authorities. What happened here must not be known. If the police were to investigate, I would be blamed as much as this evil man – for evil he is. Now, dearest, I can’t explain right now, and I must contact some friends of mine who will make this body disappear. I need you to promise me that you will not – that you will not even think of calling the police. Can you promise me that?”

 

Phoebe was standing now and quivering with a wild rush of emotion and she and Brody were more or less eye-to-eye. She said, “I can promise you no such thing. What do you mean you’ll be blamed? He broke in here with a gun and tried to shoot you, and presumably me. You defended us. If we don’t call the police we will be blamed.”

 

Brody looked thoughtful and a little rueful. He said calmly, “You have to help me a little before we do anything, OK? Do you have any rope in the house?”

 

Phoebe looked startled, “What for?”

 

Brody tenderly put his hand on her cheek and said, “Trust me. I need some rope. Show me.”

 

Phoebe thought a minute and said, “Well, there’s a big spool of some rope in the basement.”

 

Brody said, “Show me.”

 

Phoebe was aware that she was seeing a side of Brody that she had seen before, but never in this context, nor to this extent. He was usually relaxed and funny and now he was exhibiting an irresistible authority that was all the more effective for its calmness. He also seemed to grow in stature to the point that he seemed a foot taller and broader than normal. In spite of this disconcerting fact, Phoebe found that she trusted him as much as she always had – a trust that had caused her to chose him almost a year ago as her first lover since her divorce, which had been five years before.

 

Phoebe began walking toward the stairs to the basement. The stairs were through a door in the hallway that went under the main staircase. She kept her eyes riveted on the dead man as she walked across the den and gave the body a wide berth – almost tip toeing as if to avoid waking the corpse.

 

Phoebe went down the basement stairs followed by Brody and she led him up to an old woodworking table that had a bank of shelves above it. On the lowest shelf was a large spool of soft, white, cotton rope. Brody picked up the spool and pulled some of the rope off of it. With a pair of scissors that was on the table, he cut a measured length off the spool and tied two tight little knots at each end. He clipped the leftover rope close to each knot. Then he held the rope up as if to assess its texture and swung it a little. Phoebe saw that it was very limp and soft rope, closely woven and floppy. She had no idea why it was there, but had noticed its presence for years.

 

Brody turned to Phoebe, “Listen to me carefully. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone else and I will not hurt you. I will never hurt you. But I have to take care of some things for a couple of hours and I cannot risk the possibility that you will call the police. I know you think it’s the right thing to do, but believe me; you have no idea what we’re dealing with here. Because I must be sure that you won’t do anything precipitous while I’m gone, I’m going to tie you up a little.”

 

Phoebe stammered, “But…”

 

Brody put a finger to his lips, “Ssh, ssh. It won’t hurt and I’ll be back in two hours at most. This has to be done, so just turn around.”

 

Phoebe was frozen where she stood and with a little laugh, Brody gently took her by the shoulders and turned her around. Phoebe felt her arms drawn behind her and then felt Brody tie her hands behind her. Phoebe felt a strange surge of an undefined, but not unpleasant feeling go through her body as she felt the knot being tied – a knot that announced to her mind and body that she was now a prisoner.

 

She felt Brody leave her and she turned around to see him prepare another length of rope. All the while he was keeping up a reassuring line of patter.

 

“Now don’t you worry. That’s the main thing. I know you’ll be asking yourself all kinds of questions about why this is happening and I know you’ll wonder if you can ever trust me again, but I can assure you that all will be revealed. Whether you’ll still have me after that is another thing. All I ask is that you hear me out when I get back. If you want me to leave and never come back afterwards, I’ll understand. If you want to call the police after I’ve explained, then call the police, but I don’t think you’ll want to. Now let’s go back upstairs. After you.”

 

Phoebe mounted the stairs and her hands tried to grab the banister. They’re inability to do so surprised her and she felt her wrists twisting against her bonds. She felt that she should say something, but in her confusion, nothing seemed appropriate. Brody steered her back into the den and indicated that she should sit back on the couch. Phoebe couldn’t take her eyes off the dead man until she became aware that Brody was winding rope around her ankles. She had never felt so strange. Being tied up was a startling event to Phoebe, but Brody was being gentle and matter of fact about the whole thing. All she could think of to say was, “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

 

Brody replied, “I know, I know. I have no choice. You’ll understand that later.”

 

Phoebe watched as Brody picked up the dead man over his shoulder and as he left the room he said, “Be back in two minutes.”

 

Those two minutes were the strangest in Phoebe’s life. Her mind and body insisted that she not sit on the couch and wait, but the ropes around her wrists and ankles firmly reminded her that she would, in fact, sit right where she was. She struggled a little just to be sure, but struggling seemed a bit undignified to Phoebe and she decided to preserve as much dignity as possible by sitting still and straight.

 

Brody came back and in his hand was a long, black, silk scarf that Phoebe recognized as her own. He approached her with a regretful look on his face. He seemed almost shy. “I’m going to have to gag you with this scarf. It won’t hurt and you’ll be able to breathe just fine.”

 

Phoebe said with a quaver in her voice, “Brody, this is insane. You will not gag me and you will untie me this instant. I demand it.” Her hands made fists behind her back and she stamped on the floor with her tied-together feet.

 

“Sweetie, I know you don’t understand what’s going on right now and it scares me to death to treat you like this, but it has to happen. I have to do this my way and later we’ll either laugh about it or you’ll hate me forever. It doesn’t matter because there’s too much at stake. Now please open your mouth.”

 

Phoebe looked away from Brody with a haughty look on her face and opened her mouth. Brody inserted the silk scarf and wrapped it between her teeth and around her head in both directions until it filled her mouth. He knotted it behind her head.

 

“OK, I’m leaving now. I’ll be gone for two hours. Don’t try to hop around and I’d advise you to relax. You can’t get loose and trying will only make you uncomfortable. I’ll untie you the second I get back and I’ll explain everything.”

 

It was at this point that Phoebe tried to say, “Ay uh mimiph.”

 

Brody just said, “I know, I know. Sit tight. Bye.” And he was gone.

 

For the first hour Phoebe sat still except for the occasional and gentle twisting of her hands and feet against the ropes. She decided that her primary emotion was simple frustration. Her mind kept trying to decide how she felt, but then she kept realizing that she didn’t know why the man had attacked Brody or why Brody wanted to keep the police out of it. She would have to wait. She was also not used to sitting still in an urgent situation. She kept wanting to move and kept being surprised when she couldn’t. Being tied up was a very strange experience. She decided that the mere fact of being bound and gagged wasn’t terribly relevant. What was relevant was why she had been bound and gagged and that she didn’t know.

 

Also during the first hour or so of her captivity, Phoebe noticed that her mind began to turn in on itself and run images and trains of thought through her head. She likened the phenomenon to those times when she had tried meditation. Her forced physical inactivity had produced something not unlike a meditative state of mind and in addition to her attempts to sort out her feelings about the immediate situation; she began to think back to her first meeting with Brody almost a year ago and their subsequent relationship.

 

They were in some ways an odd pair. Phoebe was quite definitely from “old money.” Her family had been wealthy since the eighteenth century and the original fortune was from shipping. Over the decades they had branched out into banking, real estate and textiles. At the moment the family owned one of the largest banks in the state and still had immense real estate holdings. Phoebe had become the president of the bank after her father’s retirement and her older brother had assumed the position of head of the board of directors. Her brother lived in the old mansion that had been continuously occupied by the family since the 1880s. Phoebe lived in the house where her mother and her mother’s parents had grown up. It had been built in the 1920s and was still much the same as it had been when first built. Both houses were in the same general neighborhood, which had been the most expensive area in town for over 100 years. There was a large country estate far from town with an eighteenth-century house on it that all the members of the family shared as a getaway location – almost like their own private hotel.

 

Phoebe had had the best education that money could buy and she had taken advantage of it. It was generally conceded that she was almost, if not actually, a genius and she and her brother had increased the family’s wealth since they took over the management. Phoebe’s shy and almost awkward manner concealed an iron will, but socially she had always been a bit at sea. Her marriage had almost been arranged with the son of one of her father’s associates. It had been an unremarkable marriage – proper on the surface and there had been a son and a daughter early on. They were now in college and boarding school and weren’t home very much. The last five years of her marriage had seen her husband deteriorate into alcoholism and infidelity. She had divorced him and his family paid him to live in Europe where he wouldn’t be such an embarrassment. For four years, Phoebe was without a man. She missed being married, but it wasn’t about sex. Phoebe had never really had a lot of fun with sex and she sometimes wondered how much she had missed.

 

Other people seemed to think it was such a great thing, but Phoebe felt that she had only, a very few times, gotten a glimpse of sexual happiness and it wasn’t always with her husband that this had occurred. Phoebe would from time to time have sudden thoughts pop into her head that involved being taken against her will and ravished by a gentlemanly villain. She wasn’t sure what to do with these thoughts. They made her feel excited, but they weren’t as frightening to her as she thought they should be. She had tried masturbating a few times, but that embarrassed her and she didn’t do it often. But when she did, the thoughts of being forced to give herself to a man were always at the forefront. He was always a gentleman about it, but he would never be denied in her fantasies. She would dismiss these later as being unrealistic and would certainly never trust her silly husband to pull this scenario off successfully. She had reconciled herself to being one of those people for whom sex just isn’t a major event in their lives – until she met Brody.

 

She met Brody at a cocktail party at her best friend Bebe’s house. Brody had worked with Bebe’s husband and Bebe made a point of introducing Phoebe to him. Phoebe could tell he wasn’t from their circle of lifelong friends. His body language was entirely different. He didn’t assume the studied, casual formality of most of her set. He held himself like working class men she had seen – the confident ones. “He is the cock of the walk,” she thought. His eyes were exactly level with Phoebe’s, which meant he was no taller than her, but his shoulders were round and bulky. He was a classic red head, freckles and all, and Phoebe desperately hoped that she wouldn’t be required to call him Red once they had become acquainted. He also was about her age, perhaps a little older.

 

But he seemed entirely appropriate in other respects. He had a fine education and was extremely well spoken. Better yet, he was relaxed and blunt. When they had first been introduced they stood talking, sizing each other up and Brody had said, “Bebe wouldn’t rest until you and I were face to face and knew each others’ names. She seems to think we would make a ‘cute’ couple. She said those very words. Has she told you the same thing?”

 

Phoebe had smiled wryly and answered, “She’s never said anything to me about you. It seems that I am the object of a plot rather than a participant. So we are to be ‘cute’ together? Bebe is cute. I am not.”

 

Brody’s eyes crinkled with amusement, “No, you’re better than cute. You’re a thoroughbred – a very lovely and ethereal being.”

 

“You make me sound like some sort of angelic racing horse.”

 

“Ha. No one knows what they look like. I’ll bet you’ve gone through your whole life thinking you were too tall, haven’t you? Anyway, it’s almost impossible to tell someone exactly how they look. Like it or not, you’re beautiful. You’ll never believe it, but there it is. As for me, I’m a stump. I’m a big, red brick. Why are you single?”

 

Phoebe was beginning to enjoy herself, “I am single because my husband of fifteen years became a stupid adolescent who couldn’t hold his liquor. Some people grow out of that. He grew into it. As for you, you look like a large, happy boy who enjoys playing sports but doesn’t become tiresome by taking it all too seriously. Am I right?”

 

Brody laughed in surprise, “Not exactly, but close. I’ve never been a stick and ball man, but I have known some physical competition in my day. I know who you are. So you’ll know who I am, I am presently the proud, if somewhat exhausted, owner of an airfreight company. Until ten years ago, I was a fighter pilot – fifth generation military. My son is now carrying on the tradition. I am also your neighbor. In a neighborhood of veritable palaces, I own what is probably the smallest house of all. It’s one block over and it’s an old farmhouse that predates almost every house around here.”

 

“You mean that darling little Victorian with the turret and the upstairs balcony? I love that place. My great-grandparents owned it and lived in it in the 1880s while their house was being built nearby. When I was a little girl, I always used to beg my grandfather to buy it for me so I could use it as a playhouse. He almost did it too. He always regretted that his father sold it.”

 

Brody’s house became the opening for them both – the excuse they needed to continue their conversation. Later that evening as the party reached its noisy peak, they unobtrusively left Bebe’s house and went to see Brody’s. They had a lovely time poking through Phoebe’s great-grandparents temporary home. After that they had begun dating.

 

Phoebe had never been so excited by a male of the species. She had never had sex with anyone but her unlamented husband and while she was quick to decide that she would have sex with Brody, she was also slow to actually do it. To her surprise he told her that as far as he was concerned they could go at any pace she liked. If she wanted to just kiss – they would just kiss. If she wanted to string him along mercilessly – he would be the willing victim. He informed her that he found anticipation to be a strong and delectable spice and that, in general, going slow meant building a much larger eventual passion. Brody thought it was such fun to be dating like a kid again. He said it reminded him of his first love. She told him that he literally was her first love. They had such fun. She had never laughed so hard and so often in her life. They had first had sex after dating six months and while Brody was a gentle and considerate lover, he was also immensely strong. She felt almost weightless when he would pick her up in his arms. She had always felt so overly large before, but with Brody she felt sweet and lovely and fragile. He made her feel impossibly valuable.

 

Because of Brody’s emotional and physical power, her fantasies of being taken against her will began to seem not quite so fantastic. She didn’t tell him about this and she didn’t revel in it, but she did notice these fantasies visiting her more often and with a vividness of detail she had never known before and she had actually begun having orgasms. Phoebe marveled, “At the age of 39, I’m having my first orgasms. What could possibly be better?”

 

What was almost better than orgasms was the fact that for the first time, Phoebe had a man who was both her equal and her best friend and her lover all in one. She even found herself indulging in “girl talk” with Bebe. Brody was making Phoebe quietly, but profoundly happy.

 

And now he had killed a man and then tied Phoebe and gagged her. He had taken the body away and all Phoebe knew was that he would explain later. What was she left with? Two currents of thought – the first that she was bound hand and foot and that her lover might be insane or a criminal and the second was that for a year she had been intimate with this wonderful man and she could have sworn he was the most emotionally healthy man she had ever met and he was furthermore the very embodiment of integrity.

 

Which current of thought should she listen to? The shocking events of the evening left her unable to focus her mind. If only she could pace around the room, she might be able to think more clearly. The fact that Brody killed a man wasn’t as shocking to her as she might have expected. She was in fact quite impressed with the way Brody had reacted and defended them both. “He saved both our lives,” Phoebe finally reflected at one point. “That makes him a hero – my hero. But then he ties me up so I can’t call the police. Does that make him a villain? That is the crux of the matter. Either I trust him or I don’t. I believe I will choose to trust him. After all, I am rather glad he killed the man. And really, I am not too uncomfortable or frightened about being bound and gagged, as the saying goes. So there it is. I don’t want to lose him, so I will refuse to judge him until all the evidence is in. After all, with Brody I have had many experiences that I have never before had. Perhaps this is just one more. I’ve never been roped like a damsel before. Ha! The only thing lacking is for him to come in here and have his way with me while I’m all tied up.”

 

As she developed this train of thought and wandered into a more relaxed attitude than she had had during the first hour of her captivity, Phoebe suddenly noticed that her thoughts were now quite pleasant. Her body was responding to her thoughts in the same way it did when she knew her mouth was about to be kissed and her body about to be touched by Brody. “Good heavens,” she thought, “This is an unexpected development.”

 

Her new feelings made her squirm against the ropes a bit and the ropes responded by seeming to tighten their grip. The resulting feeling of helplessness made her feel even more stimulated, so she simmered down a tad in order to remain at least partially in control of her emotions. But her thoughts of Brody were too exciting to abandon. Thinking of Brody as her captor and she, the bound damsel, was like entering a rather enchanted place where she had definitely never been before. It was so rare to have unfamiliar and exciting feelings. “Is being tied up responsible for this?” She struggled experimentally and found that yes, under these circumstances, being tied up was the major contributor to a very deep stirring between her legs and in her bosom; not to mention a vivid series of images that began emerging from hitherto unvisited corners of her mind.

 

Phoebe was now gently, but persistently, twisting against her bonds as a counterpoint to her thoughts. She became aware that she had lifted her heels out of her shoes and that the cool air on her soles felt very, very nice indeed. She slipped her stocking feet out of her shoes entirely and was electrified at how very much more vulnerable that made her feel. “I’m becoming like one big sexual nerve ending.”

 

Phoebe decided that all these new experiences were not to be scorned. She didn’t know where they would lead, but they had to be worth something. Her time with Brody had begun her belated sexual education. There was obviously more to be learned. The only question still was whether Brody was justified, not in killing the attacker, but in refusing to inform the authorities. Phoebe reflected that this was probably the only time that she would ever be a genuine captive – tied up completely against her will and that it should be enjoyed. After all, who cared if the man who intended to kill them was now dead? Why should it be any business of the police? If Brody was involved in something illegal, then that was the issue, but he certainly hadn’t seemed to be a criminal and she didn’t feel threatened with harm now. “How completely unlikely it is that I don’t feel in the least bit frightened,” Phoebe concluded. She also decided that she had analyzed her predicament quite enough. It was time to give in to her feelings.

 

And her feelings were that being bound and gagged by her lover were not only exciting, but also fun. It was in fact funny and absurd. How worried Brody’s face had looked. He was more worried about tying her than he had been about defending them against a deadly attack.

 

Phoebe began to remember all the movies and TV shows she had seen that contained a bound damsel. Some of these damsels were frightened. Others were angry. There were even some where the scene was comic and the damsel was totally and absurdly unconcerned about her plight. “That is the way I will be,” she decided. She also decided that many bound damsels did some hopping around and that she would give that a try. She would in fact hop away from her seat and force Brody to look for her. She giggled behind her gag as she thought of Brody coming into the room and finding her gone from her seat. But where should she go?

 

Phoebe leaned forward and slowly stood up. She found it remarkable how precarious her balance was with her hands and feet tied together and decided to be very careful. She would move one hop at a time and plan her route. She noticed her shoes on the floor and thought it would be funny that that’s all Brody would find of her when he returned. She looked around the room and thought about what direction she should take. “Well. It’s certainly an interesting state of affairs that moving around my own house should be such a chore.” This reminder of her physical helplessness was a little stimulating and she felt a sense of fun about the trick she was to play on Brody.

 

The house was very large. The room she was in was at the back of the house. The kitchen was next to it. There was a central hall that went past a library, a bedroom, the basement stairs, the dining room, a parlor and a formal living room. At the front of the house between the parlor and the living room was a massive curving staircase that led up to a ballroom at the front of the house and eight bedrooms. A third floor had four more bedrooms.

 

Phoebe decided to hop down the hall to the stairs and then decided what to do next. She made a few small, tentative hops and found that if she pointed her feet out like a duck that her balance was a little better. It was difficult without the help of her arms to both balance and redistribute her weight, but with a little practice she felt more confident. She slowly hopped across the room towards the hall. Her stocking feet had a good grip on the carpet and she made good progress. By the time she was in the hall, however, the ropes had responded to her tense muscles by seeming to tighten. She thought it ironic that hopping around and moving made her feel more helpless and obviously bound than sitting still on the couch had done.

 

She hopped carefully down the hall. The hall was floored with polished wood and her stocking feet felt a little slippery. She kept close to a wall so that she could lean against it if she lost her balance. The entrance hall was floored with polished marble as were the stairs and Phoebe carefully hopped to the front of the stairs and sat down on the second step from the bottom. She was out of breath and was damp with sweat. She was also terribly excited. It was as if she was really trying to escape and she felt an exquisite nervousness about the possibility of Brody coming through the door and catching her in the act.

 

With a gleeful, playful smile beneath her gag, Phoebe began to go up the stair backwards – standing and placing her butt on a higher stair and then lifting her feet to the next stair and then standing again. It seemed to take forever to get up the stairs in this way and at the top she was faced with a problem. She was standing on the next to the last stair facing down the stairs. She was afraid to shuffle around to face the other way and was afraid to jump high enough to get up on the last stair. Falling down the stairs was a distinct possibility and she was not going to risk that. What to do?

 

She sat down on the stair landing and pondered. “First decide where I’m going,” she decided. She thought it would be fun to go into one of the back bedrooms where, from a window, she could see Brody pull his car in. The driveway curved around the back of the house and there was a parking area in front of the remodeled carriage house on the side of the property. From the bedroom over the den, she would be able to look out the window and know when Brody was back.

 

In the meantime, she was stuck. She looked out over the stairs and the entrance hall. It was a familiar sight that she had known all her life, but being all tied up made it look completely different in some way. She was seeing and feeling everything from a new angle. She looked down at her bound ankles and wriggled her toes under her stockings. “A few wrappings of soft, thin rope have rendered me almost helpless to get up the last few inches of these stairs,” Phoebe mused.

 

Her hair had been shaken into her face by her exertions and she was damp with perspiration. Her gag was also saturated with spit. She was surprised to find that what would normally bother her a great deal, now seemed part of the excitement. She couldn’t do anything about so many things, and that made her feel curiously serene. But it was a serenity that was accompanied by a seemingly contradictory sense of energetic stimulation. She brought her mind back to the problem at hand.

 

First she scratched her nose on the banister post and then pushed back farther onto the stair landing until her feet could only touch the next to the top stair with her very tip-toes. Then she pulled her feet up so that they were flat on the floor and her knees were bent. This made her skirt slip down her thighs and when her hands automatically tried to put her skirt back, the ropes reminded her that her hands would stay behind her back. “Another thing I can’t do anything about. I must learn to be immodest,”

 

With her hands tied at the small of her back, they couldn’t reach the floor, so it became obvious that her legs and feet would have to do all of the work. Phoebe pushed off sideways with her feet and pivoted on her butt until her back was against the wall at the top of the stairs. She dug a shoulder into the wall and gathered her feet up under her as far as they would go and she tried to stand up, sliding her body up the wall. This was remarkably difficult and her feet slipped out from under her more than once, but finally she got halfway up and froze there for a moment and rested. She pushed up again and found the last push easier than the first. The only problem now was that the top three buttons of her blouse had popped open and the top of her right breast was exposed – her blouse almost being pulled off her right shoulder. “Well, at least my skirt has fallen back into place. I guess it’s too much to ask that a person who is tied up should remain perfectly groomed.”

 

She began hopping down the upstairs hall. There was a strip of carpet down the middle, so she made better time than she had in the downstairs hall. Her hopping technique was quite good now and she had developed a regular motion where her upper body leaned forward and her knees were slightly bent and her heels were elevated. She wondered how she looked and couldn’t imagine, but she was a graceful person and she managed even this with an attractive flair.

 

She reached the back bedroom and hopped across it to the very back window. There was a sitting area with a couch and overstuffed chair arranged around the window so that a person could sit and have coffee in the morning and see out of the window if they sat on the very end of the couch. Phoebe hopped up to the window and with the tiny little steps allowed by the ropes, she turned around and pulled the curtain cord with one hand. She could only pull the cord a couple of inches at a time, so anyone watching from outside would have seen the curtains open with small jerky motions. Then they would have seen a woman with her hands tied behind her back hop across the window and slowly turn around to that she could sit at the end of the couch and look out the window.

 

Phoebe had been pleased to see when she entered the room that there was a light on. It was a tall floor lamp at the other end of the couch and she was happy it was on because the light was dying outside. She figured she had about thirty minutes before Brody came back and so she leaned back in the couch and looked around the room – and came face to face with herself. There she was in an antique, full-length mirror. She was transfixed. Was there no end to surprises? Her physical helplessness had made her see and feel everything differently and the sight of herself, bound and gagged, in full view was electrifying. It was as if she had never seen herself before. She had become used to controlling the image she saw in the mirror, but now she was as out of control of that as she was everything else.

 

What she saw was an undeniably and unexpectedly beautiful woman. She had assumed she would appear an awkward mess, but the surprising sight of her image forced her have an instant and objective reappraisal. She was disheveled certainly, but that only added to her appearance of uncontrolled loveliness. With her arms drawn behind her, her figure was revealed to be quite nymph-like. Her bosom seemed more prominent than usual and her blouse drawn back on one side added a frankly carnal air to her appearance, as did her disordered hair flying about her face or tucked under the gag. Her mouth and cheeks looked a little distorted by the gag. Her mouth wouldn’t quite close and her checks seemed a little chubby where the gag went around them, but the effect was more sultry than ridiculous. Her long, smooth legs seemed well defined and when she pointed her feet, they revealed themselves to be very graceful appendages indeed. “It’s almost as if ropes and a gag were very effective fashion accessories,” Phoebe thought with wonder. Phoebe knew what looked good on a woman and this surprising look at herself left no doubt that neatly tied ropes could enhance a woman’s appearance in a startling way. Phoebe went deeper into her impression that she had entered a serious, but profoundly playful and enchanted new world. It was like a game that was also real – an adult game, but with all the extreme capacity for imagination that was so often lost in adulthood.

 

Phoebe began to strike poses for the mirror. She struggled a bit and now saw as well as felt how firmly she was bound. The thought of Brody finding her this way was now as deeply exciting as it had earlier been disconcerting when he had first tied her and left her. She wondered if she even wanted to be untied now. It eventually dawned on Phoebe that she looked a great deal like the images that had popped unbidden into her head concerning herself taken against her will by a brutal gentleman. The only difference was that in her fantasies she had never actually been tied up. “This is even better,” she decided, “and it is doubly interesting that my body is controlled even though Brody is not even here.” Phoebe’s heart was beating rapidly, but she still felt that curious serenity that seemed part and parcel of her enforced inactivity. The house was still and quiet. The only sound was a soft rustling when she twisted against the ropes.

 

Phoebe turned her attention to the window. She saw her car there and began to feel an intense anticipation for the return of Brody. It was now undeniable that she would be more than gratified if he were to begin touching and kissing her without bothering to untie her. The thought made Phoebe give an involuntary shiver. She decided that she would be totally passive. She wouldn’t make any signs one way or another that she minded or liked being tied. She would merely strike as fetching a pose as possible and leave it all up to Brody. She knew he would untie her – he had been too nervous about it before and would probably be unable to guess her feelings about it now, but if she smiled playfully and appeared to be glad to see him, perhaps he would catch a hint. He would certainly be reassured.

 

Phoebe had never been a big fan of autoeroticism. She had read books that recommended this to women as a surefire way to a satisfying orgasm, but she had always been too embarrassed to embrace the practice wholeheartedly. Now she wished she could touch herself just a little. There was a deep throbbing between her legs and an acute sensitivity all over her. The only parts of her body that could be rubbed with any satisfaction were the soles of her stocking feet. She found herself moving them back and forth over the carpet, but the only real result of this was the feeling of increased vulnerability – a feeling that fed the throbbing between her legs. She would occasionally have little spasms of stimulation and her hands would flail behind her as they struggled to escape the ropes and place themselves at her disposal, but of course they were held firmly behind her back.

 

She could see from her image in the mirror that she was writhing gently and rhythmically all the while. This was pleasant, but she felt it was best to keep her movements to a minimum so as not to appear too wanton when Brody walked into the room. She was glad that the air conditioner was going full blast because she was beginning to lose some of the general dampness that her exertions and her excitement had caused. She marveled over and over again at how inconsequential the ropes seemed when she remained still and how they seemed to have a mind of their own when she struggled. When Phoebe pulled and pushed her hands and feet against her bonds, the ropes would awaken to their duty and seem to tighten. When she relaxed, so did the ropes.

 

Her gag now felt like a thick, saturated sponge, but it was still absorbing her spit. Phoebe had a horror of drooling, but realized it was one more thing she couldn’t do anything about – a strangely liberating realization. She threw her head back to toss some locks of hair out of her eyes but to no avail – they just slid back in front of her face. She gave up and returned to her vigil at the window.

 

Now it was dark outside and the security light attached to the carriage house was flooding the parking area. Phoebe felt that the anticipation she felt must become unbearable at times. Occasionally she would sneak a look at herself in the mirror and giggle at what she saw. She would experiment with how to best compose her body so as to make the most erotic impression possible when her captor came through the door. “Except that he is both a captor and a hero. What would Bebe think, I wonder? What will she say when I tell her about this? If I tell her about this. What will be Brody’s reaction when I am not where he left me?” A low, deep laugh escaped from beneath Phoebe’s gag as she tried to imagine.

 

Phoebe decided that the best position, both for comfort and for looking beautiful was to lift her legs onto the couch and curl them around her so that her heels were up against her butt. It was a position that most women assumed when they had kicked off their shoes and were relaxing on the couch. It would look natural and nonchalant and yet accentuate the curves of her legs. Assuming this position took a good deal of effort. She had very little help from her hands and could only use the one that was pointing toward the arm of the couch, but after grunting and wriggling around, Phoebe saw in the mirror that she had achieved an acceptable pose. Her legs and stocking feet would be prominently displayed as Brody walked in. Phoebe turned back to the window just in time to see Brody’s car pull up. Her entire body tensed in excited anticipation. She drew back from the window a bit so as not to be seen and as Brody disappeared from her line of sight she began to listen.

 

She heard the back door close. The back door was right next to the den, so Brody’s big surprise wouldn’t be long now. She almost instantly heard him call out very loudly, “Phoebe, Phoebe!” She heard his steps going from room to room. Doors were opening and closing. Then her anticipation rose to a truly unbearable level as she heard him pounding up the stairs. She began to think about the contrast between Brody’s frantic activity and her own inability to move without great effort. The thought that her body was not her own, but was completely controlled by Brody, even at a distance, made her suddenly squirm and twist against the ropes. Her stocking feet pointed and dug into the couch, as she heard him searching all the many bedrooms that opened off the hallway. She was in the last one.

 

Finally she heard his step at the door. She had to twist her head over her shoulder to see him because of where the couch was placed, and she was rewarded with the sight of his rough, manly face suffused with worry and concern. He rushed over to her and while he was untying the gag he whispered, “How in God’s green earth did you get up here? I was going insane. Is there anybody in the house? Did somebody bring you up here?”

 

In spite of herself, Phoebe was not able to suppress the laughter in her voice and she heard herself betray a certain pride in having fooled him, “I got tired of the den, and thought I would come upstairs for a change of scenery.”

 

Brody had been about to bend down and untie her feet, but paused for a moment with an inquisitive look on his face. His worried face was now clouding over with a bit of stern irritation as he realized that he was being toyed with. “You little fool. You could have fallen and hurt yourself and you worried me sick. When I walked in the den and all I saw was your shoes, I almost died.”

 

They were frozen in a very strange tableau – Phoebe still tied hand and foot and smiling up and Brody, Brody looking down at her with the strangest mix of emotion. Phoebe could see that he was now becoming amused and relieved. If she had taken such a playful attitude toward her plight, then she probably wasn’t angry. Phoebe broke the silence, “You deserved it. Imagine your gall at tying me up. You are such a brute. I should never forgive you. I am a complete mess. And you have some explaining to do, or have you forgotten already that you killed a man and wouldn’t call the police? Obviously you had no choice but to kill him, but whatever your larger explanation is, it better be good.”

 

Phoebe was driven almost mad with desire by the fact that here she was, still helplessly tied, and she was lecturing him. She still had an amused, but somewhat haughty smile on her face and Brody melted at the sight of her, with her hair flying around her head and the shoulder of her blouse almost falling off on one side. From where he stood he had an excellent view down her unbuttoned blouse and, although neither was yet prepared to admit it, they were both past ready to merge their two bodies into one.

 

Brody laughed and began to untie Phoebe’s feet, “Ha, ha. Well I guess I got what was coming to me. I suppose I should have tied you to something, eh? I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

Phoebe was utterly thrilled by the suggestion that he might do this to her again, but she was playing it the dignified, slightly amused and unconcerned damsel. When her feet had been untied, Phoebe stood up, turned her back to Brody and presented her hands for him to untie. She had a sudden shiver of emotion when the thought crossed her mind that maybe he would refuse, but she felt him loosen the ropes and Phoebe was free.

 

She walked past him to the mirror and fixed her blouse, but decided to leave it unbuttoned. She took off her hair band and brushed her hair more or less back in place and turned to Brody. “I need a drink. We can have drinks while you explain to me what has happened. I hope you’re not a liar. You’re not a liar are you – as well as a brutal man? Even a gentleman can be both you know.”

 

Brody was as confused now as Phoebe had been when she was first left alone, bound and gagged. She wasn’t reacting at all like he had expected. She led the way downstairs and back into the den. He followed without a word. He was dumbfounded that she seemed so unconcerned – so unafraid – amused and happy even. This calmed his immediate fears, but excited a few suspicions. It was almost as if she was leading him into an ambush. Brody decided to keep an ear out for the police and not to let Phoebe near a phone without him right next to her. If she could get all the way from the den to the upstairs bedroom, she might have been able to use the phone. But Brody was sure that he had tied her hands in such a way that that would have been extremely difficult and the gag would have made her incomprehensible. But obviously, Phoebe was a resourceful and spirited woman. He loved her more than ever. He hoped she felt the same. “She’s a keeper,” Brody thought.

 

As for Phoebe, the journey through the house back to the den was an interesting contrast to her earlier, labored progress while tied. She recognized that she had always taken freedom of movement for granted and she took note of the fact that she could retrace her steps in less than a minute, while before it had probably taken the better part of twenty to thirty minutes to gain the upstairs bedroom. She felt her feet stride back and forth and she swung her arms. She was still tingling from her earlier excitement and the feeling of being bound and helpless was vivid. What stuck out in her mind the most was when she had first had her hands tied. She remembered the knot being tied and how that had sent her into an entirely new frame of mind and led to an enchanted and meditative internal emotional journey once she was beyond the initial consternation.

 

In the den, the first thing Phoebe did was slip her shoes back on. As she did this she smiled brazenly at Brody. He looked nervous. Phoebe said as she approached the bar, “I’ll make us our favorite drinks and you can tell me everything. I might even believe you.”

 

Brody laughed, “You are merciless.”

 

Phoebe laughed back at him, “You tied me up like a heifer and put a gag in my mouth you cad, you bounder.”

 

She handed Brody his drink and took her seat on the couch – the same place where she had spent her first hour in captivity. She crossed her legs and began dangling one of her shoes off her toes and looked expectedly at Brody.

 

Brody took a seat in an overstuffed chair opposite her and began to speak. “I told you I had been in the military as a Navy fighter pilot. Strictly speaking that is true, but I was also a covert operative. I was involved in sabotage and assassination for the government and I trained others. What I’m telling you is so secret that it puts me beyond the pale if it should get out. I don’t know what would happen to me, but it would be unpleasant. I quit the military because I felt that our government was targeting the wrong enemies. We were meddling in the affairs of other countries that posed no threat and oppressing citizens here at home. We were and are also collaborating with many who are our true enemies. I could no longer bear to be a part of it, so I and several of my like-minded colleagues decided to not only quit the military, but to stick together and form the air freight business.

 

“Unfortunately, there were those involved in the covert side that saw our withdrawal from those activities as treason. The government has not sent these people after us – they are rogue agents – but they are still working for the government and they have tried to kill us – punish us, they would say – from time to time, when they thought they could get away with it. As a result, we have also begun to hunt them. They didn’t expect that. They thought we would be cowed – that we would run and keep a low profile. So far we have had the best of it. We have assassinated many of these rogue agents. We prefer to do this abroad when we are on “business trips.” We keep tabs on their whereabouts and since we have more freedom of movement than they do – they must keep to their stations and their missions – we have outmaneuvered them for the most part. Two of us have died – both were men who didn’t come into the business and stay together in the same city. Some of us here have been attacked just as I was tonight, but it has been a couple of years now since this occurred. We have come very close to eliminating or intimidating our enemies and the man tonight was not one of the original group. I took his body to our warehouse and had a meeting with my associates. Our theory is that he is a paid assassin. We haven’t yet identified him, but my friends should know who he is by tomorrow. I actually didn’t mean to kill him. I wanted to question him, but one can’t always be sure of the outcome in the heat of action. As you can see, we cannot notify the authorities. They would mishandle it, disbelieve it and our lives would be ruined by the inevitable publicity.

 

“I realize this sounds like utter nonsense, but I have the documents to prove who I am – or rather was. I would be happy to show you everything. In fact I will do anything not to drive you away from me and I apologize deeply for tying you up. Can you ever forgive me, both for holding you prisoner and for putting you in danger without any warning?”

 

Phoebe sat very quietly. She had uncrossed her legs and was leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, engrossed in this tale. She found that, given what she already knew about Brody, that his story was believable. Either all this was true or he was an out and out criminal. It was one or the other and she knew he had all the qualities of an honorable man and none of the sociopath. Her career in the corporate world had given her a keen ability to judge people.

 

She wet her lips and considered what she should say, or rather how she should express what she knew she would say, “As for putting me in danger, let me point out that you actually defended us against a deadly attack. There is no guarantee that we will go through life without encountering danger. My life has been more sheltered than most perhaps, but I have never taken my safety for granted. I have a conceal/carry permit and I use it. You didn’t know that? I go around with my little pistol most of the time. As for being bound and gagged, I’ll tell you a little secret. At first, I was in shock from everything that had happened, but in retrospect I was tempted to trust you so I wasn’t so much frightened as I was startled. It soon became clear that forced inactivity allowed me to reflect rather than engage in precipitous action and I’m glad it did, because I must admit, I’m sure I’m blushing, that I rather enjoyed the experience. I will tell you that I’m hoping more than somewhat that you might be persuaded to tie me up again sometime when you can keep me company. Ha ha. But I would like to see your documents. Just to make it all clear and above board. I am a business woman you know.”

 

Brody hadn’t seen Phoebe blush like she was now since the first time she had let him see her naked. He knew she was shy, but he also knew that she didn’t let her shyness stand in her way.

 

They looked at each other for a moment, both reassessing each other and liking what they saw. Brody broke the silence, “When I walked in the bedroom, I could tell immediately that you were having fun. I’m grateful for your attitude. I was so afraid I had lost you forever by putting the ropes on you.”

 

Phoebe slowly smiled, “I think it’s interesting that even if you tie me again, we will never have the experience of my being a real prisoner. I wonder if it will be as exciting.”

 

“Well, I’m sure we can approximate the experience. We could set a predetermined time in which there would be no possibility of your being set free – a time in which you would in fact be my captive.”

 

This suggestion sent a surge of emotion through Phoebe. She looked away from Brody and tossed her hair, sipped her drink, crossed her legs, smoothed her skirt and leaned back against the couch in an unconvincing display of relaxed nonchalance.

 

Brody laughed, “You are so cute when you’re embarrassed. When would you like to be my captive again?”

 

Phoebe cleared her throat, “I’m ashamed to admit that I’d like another taste of it this very evening. What time is it? Only 8 o’clock? Give me a few minutes to stretch out and let’s talk over what we want to do. You seem to know how to be the villain. Lay out the scenario. And I’d still like to see this ‘proof’ of your covert existence. Are you like a spy in the movies? Do you have gadgets – is your wristwatch a radar and is your pen a little gun?”

 

“Well the movies are a bit overwrought. They also seem to have quite a few beautiful women in them and I can tell you that the only women I encountered in my covert activities were those I paid for. There was no innocent damsel action at all. No tuxedos, no gambling in Monte Carlo, no gourmet meals or glamorous locations. And anyway I believe I mentioned I was retired?”

 

Phoebe was feeling an increased anticipation. It would happen again. It would be fun. She said, “I must say, when you tied me up so expertly, you were quite the gentlemanly villain – so apologetic, so reassuring. And your technique, if that’s the word, proved to be quite unexpectedly comfortable. Wasn’t that part of your secret agent training – the tying of damsels?”

 

Brody showed signs of discomfort. He began to look like a fellow preparing to enter the confessional. “As I have told you in a past conversation, I often paid for the company of women in my travels and one of the more delightful services offered by some of them was the willingness to be bound and gagged while they are… um… at work. One of them took the time to show me an actual manual that instructed the villain in the proper way to tie and gag a lovely woman. I still have a copy. Would you like to see that? I thought so.

 

“I propose that we make the short trip over to my house where I will hold you prisoner until midnight. We can look over my past life and have drinks and dinner and towards the end of your captivity, I think I can promise you a shockingly effective orgasm. Lets talk over the details. Do you have any specific desires – anything in mind? Once we get started, I am in control, but I would like to accommodate you along the way.”

 

Phoebe looked at the ceiling, “First of all I would like to admit that for as long as I can remember, I’ve had this persistent fantasy of being taken sexually against my will – nothing violent or injurious, but nevertheless being taken despite a certain amount of struggling by a gentlemanly fellow who will not be denied. I never thought it was possible that I would meet someone who could pull that off convincingly, but part of our success together sexually has been that I have always suspected that you could do it gently, but convincingly. Being tied up has never been a part of my scenario, but now it is. My thought is that I will struggle up to a point, but when you are obviously in control, I will damp it down.” Phoebe paused, “I can’t believe I’m saying this. To continue, I’ll trust you to know when I’m playing and when I’m not, but I doubt if I’ll enter into this with any second thoughts. I’ll either do it all the way or not do it at all. My only thought about tonight is that you should take me captive here and transport me to your house. Let’s see how you handle that. Ha ha.”

 

Brody gave a low laugh, “Well, well. So when should we get started?”

 

Phoebe said, “Go get the rope and gag and let’s have another drink. Let’s try to be at your house by 9.”

 

When Brody came back into the den he untangled the rope. Phoebe saw that he had fetched a fresh scarf. She said, “How thoughtful of you to bring a clean gag. If you had said yesterday we’d be having this conversation, I would have been mortified.”

 

Brody looked at her thoughtfully, “So you were comfortable the way I tied you? Would you mind being tied a bit more thoroughly from time to time.”

 

Phoebe laughed, “I trust you. I will say that a lot of discomfort would ruin it for me. A little actually adds to the thrill. I know you’ll be just the right kind of villain. I’ll make us another drink.

 

“You know, when I was tied up before, I was conscious of a certain freedom of imagination that I have never felt before. It was as if physical restraint removed emotional inhibitions. I’m sitting here only a few minutes away from being tied up again and I am strongly anticipating freedom from emotional restraint. It’s ironic. By the way, am I dressed properly? Would you like to have me dress differently?”

 

They sat and chatted about this and that while having their second drink. Brody was deeply moved by the sight of her relaxed excitement and noticed that one sign of this was when Phoebe kicked off her shoes. She always did this when she was relaxed and receptive to sexual attention. Phoebe drained her drink, slipped on her shoes and went over to the bar as if to make another drink. She gave Brody a significant look over her shoulder as she did so.

 

Brody took this as his cue and with rope in hand he strode over to the bar and put his hands on Phoebe’s shoulders. In a sinister voice like a movie vampire he said, “Eet iss time for the spider to spin his veb.”

 

Phoebe rewarded him with a deep, bubbling laugh. She felt her arms being drawn behind her and she gave a little struggle to see what Brody would do and she was thrilled to find that his strong hands tightened their grip and simultaneously looped the rope around her wrists. She felt him quickly wrap the rope around and around until it was quite thick and then she could feel him cinch the rope between her wrists – making the wrappings tighter. She heard more than felt the knot being tied and noticed that a glow went through her body in the split second it took to tie the knot. It was a signal that she was now Brody’s captive and had lost control of her body. She also found that he had tied her a little differently. The first time her hands had been drawn up into the small of her back, with her forearms almost parallel to each other. This time her forearms were more parallel to her body and her wrists were crossed at an angle with her hands resting at the top of her butt. Phoebe found it stimulating to find herself as helpless, without Brody touching her, as she had been when her arms were in his grip. She was more helpless in fact. She pulled and twisted at the ropes in order to feel the full measure of her plight.

 

Phoebe turned around to face Brody. For the first time there was no ambiguity in the captor-captive relationship. He was now a confident captor and she the helpless victim. She smiled at him, blushing and trailing one foot behind her in a bashful way. Brody was making himself, and her, another drink.

 

“I’ve left your feet free to that you can accompany me to the basement while I prepare the rest of the rope.”

 

“The rest of the rope? What does that mean?”

 

“From your earlier exploits, it’s obvious to me that you will require the maximum restraint if you are not to go hopping around all over the place and ultimately trying to get loose. By the way, as the captive it is your obligation to try and escape if ever you can and it is my duty to see that you don’t. There will be times when I will leave you alone and we will have to be sure you aren’t tempted, or able, to get free.”

 

As Brody was saying this he had turned to Phoebe and taken her by the waist. Then he kissed her deeply. Phoebe leaned into the kiss, but willing though she was, the kiss exponentially increased her feeling of helplessness. Her hands could neither help nor hinder Brody’s attentions. She felt her hands writhing about behind her as they tried to come around and grab his body and she was electrified to feel them held fast. When Brody broke off the kiss, Phoebe stood there and tried to regain her composure with limited success. Brody indicated with a gentlemanly gesture that she should proceed in front of him to the basement.

 

As they walked, Brody drank in the sight of her. Even with her hands tied behind her, Phoebe walked with a practiced grace. She might have been walking into a room full of people. She had a direct stride that only faltered when she went down the stairs and became conscious of a lack of balance caused by her bound hands. As she looked down at her steps she kept shaking the hair out of her eyes. Brody thought this impossibly endearing.

 

Phoebe leaned against the workbench and watched Brody cut a couple more lengths off the spool of rope. One of these was extremely long and the other two were shorter.

 

“Tell me, Phoebe, are you at all sorry for the man I killed? Has it traumatized you? You seem remarkably unconcerned for someone who has undoubtedly never seen a man killed in anger before. How can that be?”

 

“Well, it happened very fast and the situation was totally unambiguous. He attacked – you defended. It was shocking of course, but once it became obvious that I would not be allowed to call the police, the mystery concerned me the most. Then too, being tied up forced me to come to terms with all sorts of things I couldn’t do anything about. It was like that old expression, “fit to be tied.” I was fit to be tied at first and then almost immediately, I was tied. I decided that unless you were some sort of horrible criminal, I admired you for what you did. After all, a man who breaks into someone’s house to kill them is the scum of the earth. It was a given that he must have been up to some sort of evil. And as I told you, I have been vaguely aware that you are something of a dangerous man. In our sex together, you have never been anything but gentlemanly, but you also haven’t treated me as if I’ll break. At the same time, the suggestion of roughness I’ve seen in you and your obvious physical power has made me feel truly feminine for the first time in my life. I have always felt somewhat awkward, but I feel sweetly powerless in your arms and that has been emotionally liberating. Being bound and gagged is only a further investigation into those feelings. You could touch me right now and I couldn’t do a thing to stop you. I might try to stop you just to feel the pleasure that would result in not being able to.”

 

Phoebe moved closer to Brody. She was surprised when Brody spun her around and began wrapping the long length of rope around her arms and body. It made her laugh. She saw that he was wrapping a double strand of rope beneath her bosom and just above her elbows. She began paying attention to his technique while at the same time becoming increasingly warm from the feelings these new bonds gave her. When the rope was somewhat thick around her, she felt Brody wrap some turns of rope between her elbows and body around the earlier wrappings. He did this on one side and then on the other. When this was done she felt him gently pull everything snug somewhere between her shoulder blades and then felt him tie the knot. Then he moved away from her and back to the workbench.

 

Phoebe twisted and turned against her new bonds and found that they greatly restricted the movement of her arms in all directions. She looked down and saw that her bosom was quite prominent. Her blouse was stretched tightly over her breasts and with the top three buttons still undone from her earlier struggles, the top of her bra was revealed where her breasts touched together.

 

While her attention was focused on this very exciting new development, Brody was gathering some things together. He had found a canvas tool bag and into this he put scissors, the lengths of rope he had cut and the entire spool of rope that was left. He gave Phoebe a couple of appreciative glances and then announced, “Let’s go back upstairs and get you ready for our trip to my house. Up you go!” He pushed her toward the stairs with his hand on her butt and Phoebe trotted to the stairs laughing. While she had been checking out her ropes, she had slipped a heel out of one shoe and when Brody pushed her, she lost the shoe entirely. At the foot of the stairs, she kicked off the other shoe and slowly ascended the stairs. Brody picked up both shoes and followed behind with his canvas bag. He loved the look of her smooth stocking feet and strong legs as they moved up and down in front of him.

 

They entered the den and Phoebe pirouetted around. She stood and pointed the toes of one foot in front of her and assumed a dancers position. Brody was deeply moved by the graceful movements of her legs contrasted with her tightly pinioned upper body. Her mischievous smile was adorable. She blinked at him swiftly in a humorous parody of a silent movie damsel and Brody almost melted.

 

He kissed her again for a long, long time, but not long enough for Phoebe. She suddenly and shockingly found herself wanting to be ravished completely, thoroughly and with no waste of time. She had never had so shocking of a transition from feeling mildly and playfully sexy to being desperately so. She could barely control herself when Brody broke off the kiss and Brody noticed that her breathing was deep, her face flushed and her body tense as he pushed her into a seat on the couch.

 

Without a word, Brody kneeled down at her feet and gathered both legs in one brawny arm. Phoebe began to try and pull them out of his grip, but he tightened his hold and quickly looped some rope around her ankles, pulled it tight and began wrapping turn after turn around them. In doing so, his hands brushed against the soles of her feet and Phoebe drew in a sharp breath as his hands lightly brushed against her extremely sensitive stocking feet. It was even worse when Brody began to cinch the rope between her ankles and Phoebe was shocked to find herself squealing and laughing. Phoebe was not a squealer and never had been. When he pulled the rope snug and knotted it, Phoebe felt as she usually did at the moment when she was naked and ready to receive an extremely hard penis. Her body was hot and glowing and she was wet between her legs. She was breathing softly but rapidly and her mouth was slightly open.

 

To add to her agony, when Brody finished tying her feet together, he gave her toes a kiss. Phoebe pulled her feet away with all her might and this time Brody let them go. He stood up and walked away, leaving Phoebe overwhelmed by her extreme degree of sexual desire and the complete inability to do anything to satisfy it. She breathed in and out and tried to compose herself. She was astounded at how being tied up increased the significance of everything that occurred between them. Even watching Brody walk freely around the room had a shattering effect on Phoebe. She thought, “He can come and go as he pleases. Touch me or not touch me. I can’t even move.” The world outside the room had receded and everything in the room had exaggerated importance. “It’s like a hallucination,” she heard herself say out loud.

 

Brody looked at her, “I’ve never seen you look more beautiful. It is like a dream, isn’t it? I wonder what it will feel like when we venture out of the house.”

 

Phoebe saw Brody approach with a long, white, silk scarf in his hand. He stood behind her in back of the couch and leaned around. Her head tilted up towards him and Phoebe was rewarded with another long, deep kiss. This time too, she was gratified to feel a hand cupping one of her breasts and gently rubbing it. This sent her into a series of twisting struggles and the subsequent feeling of helplessness as the ropes increased their grip and held her fast was like a lever that tipped her emotions into a new realm of carnal desire. As Brody’s mouth withdrew from hers and her mouth tried to follow, he slipped the scarf between her teeth and began wrapping it around her head, each wrapping increasing the thickness in her mouth until she could no longer touch her teeth or lips together. Phoebe’s body was desperate to move and do something, anything to have itself touched again, if you please, and this forced Phoebe into a rhythmic sort of squirming movement. She had just begun to calm down a notch or two when Brody came back to her feet. He was carrying her shoes. He picked her bound feet up off the floor and lifted them to his face and holding her ankles by the ropes, he kissed her on the soles of her feet, kissing and licking. Phoebe found this highly pleasurable, but at the same time close to unbearable and she heard herself yell through the gag, “Oh my God, oh my God!” Of course this emerged from behind the gag as, “Oh I oph, oh I oph!”

 

Brody slipped her shoes on her feet and let them fall back to the floor where she felt them tingling with sensation. She pushed her feet hard against the floor and began curling her toes within her shoes. Brody gave her a pleasant smile. He looked calm and relaxed and happy and that infuriated Phoebe for a moment. She was in sexual extremis and there he was waltzing around the room totally insensitive to that fact. Her next thought was, “Think about what it will be like when he finally touches me in earnest, with the intent to satisfy this awful yearning. God I sound like a romance novel.”

 

Brody left the room with his canvas bag and she heard him go outside toward the parking area. She heard his car crank up and move along the driveway closer to the back door that led off of the kitchen. Her sense of excitement shifted from one of frustrated sexual frenzy to one of tense anticipation. Events would move without her influence, but she decided it would be both fun and stimulating to struggle like mad.

 

Brody came back in the house and searched her purse for the house keys. Phoebe found the sight of him violating the privacy of her purse one more deeply moving example of her status as helpless captive. Brody left the purse on the table and pocketed the keys. He laughed as he approached her and Phoebe began to mmph through the gag and struggle. Brody stood her up and draped her face-down over his shoulder. Phoebe madly thrashed against her bonds in an attempt to prevent this and with her feet, tried to hit Brody in the face. She was amazed at how easily Brody managed her. She felt weightless, so little effect did her movements have on his. From her upside down vantage point, she saw the den disappear. They went through the hallway, the kitchen and out the door. Brody locked the door and then inserted a well-packaged Phoebe into the back seat of his car and pushed her so that she was lying down. He encircled her body with a lap belt so that she couldn’t sit up and then went around to the driver’s seat.

 

Phoebe decided to keep up her struggles. She found it great fun to spew invective at Brody. She found it surprisingly easy to be abusive when she couldn’t be understood and they were both soon laughing at the noises she made. As Brody drove he listened to her wriggling body on the back seat. When she lost her shoes, he recognized that distinctive odor that stocking feet sometimes had when they had been in leather shoes for a while. He found it very pleasant when not too strong and he had always wondered if women wore shoes that were easily kicked off in order to minimize the amount of time their feet were in their shoes. He decided that he would ask Phoebe about that some day. Perhaps women weren’t conscious of their motives. He had always found it curious that women went around in shoes that left them essentially barefooted for the most part. He knew it was a way to be sexy, but he wasn’t sure if they saw it in the same way as men. Women’s veritable obsession with shoes had to have something to do with the fact that certain kinds of shoes made them feel a certain way, but how much of it had to do with men and how much to do with their own self-image? He decided it was primarily a mystery. He loved a mystery. He loved Phoebe and it seemed satisfyingly bizarre that the woman he loved was tied up and gagged in his back seat, thrashing around and kicking. It was profoundly entertaining, funny and it was making him hard as a rock.

 

After a short drive, Brody turned into the driveway of his house. The old Victorian farmhouse loomed above them with its turret and huge, tall windows. Phoebe looked up at the sight of this scary old house with a thrill and stopped her struggles. She was still laughing as they stopped behind the house in front of the back porch. Unlike her own house, which had a high wall around the backyard Brody’s house was surrounded only by trees. The houses were much closer together in this older part of the neighborhood and the chances of them being seen were much greater. It was dark, but it was only 9 o’clock and Phoebe could see lights from the surrounding houses and hear people talking at a distance.

 

Through the window at her feet, she could see Brody looking around to see if the coast was clear. He looked like a man stretching after a long drive and surveying his property before entering the house. “I’ll bet he can look natural and unremarkable in the most extreme situations,” Phoebe thought.

 

Then he opened the back door of the car and with one more quick look, he grabbed her and again draped her over his shoulder and quickly carried her up a few stairs to the back porch where he stood her in a dark angle between two solid walls. He put his finger to his lips and indicated that she should be still and went back to the car. Phoebe couldn’t resist mmphing a couple of times for all she was worth just to make Brody sweat a little. She was rewarded with the sight of him noticeably speeding up his rate of activity as he grabbed the canvas bag with the rope in it and her shoes. He shut the door as quietly as possible, dropped the bag and her shoes on a rocking chair on the porch, unlocked the door, grabbed Phoebe and rushed her into the house, she still mmphing and laughing like a loon. He sat her on a kitchen chair and went back out to retrieve the bag and her shoes.

 

The kitchen was dark and before he turned the lights on, Brody went around the room and drew all the curtains. He flipped on the light and stood in front of Phoebe with his arms crossed and an exasperated look on his face. “Do you want to get me arrested or something?”

 

Phoebe was giggling uncontrollably, nodded her head yes and said sweetly thought the gag, “Ummm, Hummm.” Brody rolled his eyes and continued to lecture her, “Oh yes, that would be clever. I can see the headlines now, ‘Prominent woman banker tied up for fun. Has boyfriend arrested as a joke. Coddled classes cop kinky capers. Bound banker. You get the picture. Ha ha. Maybe we need to come up with a punishment for captives that try to escape or draw attention to themselves. I’ve noticed your feet are quite ticklish. Usually you like to have your feet rubbed, but something about the ropes seems to make them unbearably sensitive. I’ll let you off this time, but any more attempts at calling for outside assistance will be dealt with by fifteen minutes of excruciating tickling. That’s fair, don’t you think sweetie pie – puddinghead?”

 

Phoebe looked shy and chastened, but her eyes were bright and shining as she nodded her head and said, “o phay.”

 

Brody laughed. He began untying her and took off all the ropes except those binding her hands behind her back. Phoebe stood up and walked over to where Brody had placed her shoes on the floor and she worked them onto her feet. She turned her back on Brody and waggled her hands at him and said, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

 

Brody untied her hands, but then with the scarf with which she had been lately gagged, he tied them together, palm to palm, in front of her, knotting it on the bottom so she couldn’t get at the knot with her teeth. He opened a bottle of wine and led her into the front parlor. As they walked through the house from front to back, Phoebe was taking in every detail of her ancestors’ old home. She had heard so much about it, but had never been in it except for that one time after Bebe’s party. “I wonder if there’s anything still here from my great grandparents’ day. Is this all your furniture?”

 

Brody replied, “None of this was mine. I bought everything in the house when I bought the house itself. Before this, I had lived in a tiny apartment at my office. I swore I would never buy a house until I could pay cash, so until the business had really taken off, I lived like a poor college student. This house seems almost an extravagance after that. Do you like the wine?”

 

With her hands bound in front of her, Phoebe had to grasp her glass in both hands and bend halfway down to sip it. “It’s very nice, but why bother to tie my hands together in front? Is it out of villainous meanness?”

 

“Yes it is. But you’d better enjoy your relative freedom while you can, because I have something a bit more extreme planned for the near future, my pretty.”

 

Phoebe had calmed down a bit from her earlier agitated state, but the sense of anticipation was high and she quivered with potential passion. After all that had happened, she was now permanently on the edge of powerful, powerful desires. All it would take would be a touch or a kiss or a few tight ropes and she knew that the feelings that emanated from between her legs would rev up like a motor. In the meantime she felt as if she were in an enchanted world of fun – a hazy dream where wonderful things were about to happen. As far as she was concerned, she and Brody together were the only reality.

 

They sat in the front parlor and Brody showed her pictures and documents from his career as a shadowy operative of the government. He showed her citations and medals that had been awarded in secret and should never have been shown to anyone – citations with impossibly vague reasons for being rewarded. He showed her pictures and documents that should have been destroyed, but that Brody had saved in case he needed to prove who he had been and where his orders had come from. He didn’t trust his former employers and he wanted some things to hang over their heads if they decided to make him and his friends any kind of scapegoats.

 

Phoebe was entranced. It was a look into a world that most people suspected existed, but could never directly see. She reflected that she had entered two of these alternate worlds in one day, but they complemented each other. She was excited to be held captive by such a dangerous, but gentlemanly man – a real man – like in a book. The terms of her captivity were something strange to ponder. First she had been tied hand and foot, totally against her will, but by a man reluctant to do so and eager to release her as soon as possible. This time she had been, and would be again, tied even more thoroughly because she had indicated that it was fun and exciting. But she was perhaps even more a captive this time because her captor was quite clear that she had no hope of freedom before midnight. Phoebe of course didn’t desire physical freedom. All of her being was focused on the promise of violent sexual release. She had never been so clear in her own mind about such a thing, nor had she ever understood that her deepest fantasies might actually be achieved.

 

They finished the bottle of wine and Brody opened another. When he went to the kitchen to do so, he made sure Phoebe accompanied him. As they left the kitchen to go back into the parlor, Brody absentmindedly grabbed a small, wooden kitchen chair from an ancient dinette set and carried it with him. Brody set the chair in the middle of the parlor in an area between two facing couches. There were chairs all around, but they were all large and upholstered like the couches. At one end of the circle of furniture was the fireplace. Phoebe thought that the kitchen chair looked as if it was on stage and the other furniture was for the audience.

 

Brody bowed slightly from the waist and gestured to Phoebe that she should please take a seat in the little kitchen chair. As he began untying her hands, she assumed a shy little voice and said, “Oh thank you for untying my hands, but I would rather sit on one of those softer, more comfortable chairs please.”

 

“I’m sorry my little poodlums, but you’re not in a position to chose your seat and in a moment you will be even less able to do so.”

 

“You’re not going to tie me to this chair are you? You brute! You monster!”

 

Phoebe leapt up and tried to run, but Brody picked her up off of the floor and sat her back in the chair. At some point he had stuffed a length of rope in his back pocket and he took this out now and let it dangle from his teeth as he drew both of Phoebe’s arms back behind the backrest of the little chair. She twisted and struggled in his grip, but his hands were like iron. She had the sudden thought that it was almost unnatural that mere flesh could have such power. Then she felt him loop the rope around her arms above her elbows. He pulled the rope tight and she felt him somehow fasten her arms to the backrest of the chair, which only came as high as her shoulder blades. The rope wasn’t very thick nor was it terribly tight and when Brody ran out of the room, presumably to fetch the rest of the rope, Phoebe felt that she could soon free herself. But Brody was only gone about ten seconds. Phoebe laughed and tried to stand and run with the chair loosely attached to her, but Brody pulled her back down and Phoebe felt the now familiar feeling of turn after turn of rope encircling her wrists. She felt the equally familiar surge of intense excitement as the knot was tied. Next Brody untied the rope that had held her elbows to the chair – a temporary measure evidently – and he came around the chair and gathered her legs in one strong arm while he tied her ankles together. Phoebe kept up a desultory struggle just so she could feel herself being manhandled and roped into helplessness in a satisfyingly vivid manner.

 

When Brody was done tying her feet together, he bent down almost under the chair and was doing something that Phoebe couldn’t see. When Brody stood up, giving her a facetious little smile, she found that not only were her feet tied together, but that they were leashed to a lower rung of the chair so that she had only about four inches of slack. She could put her feet flat on the floor or raise her legs up on her toes, but she couldn’t move her feet out from the chair.

 

Phoebe then heard Brody behind her. As she turned to see what he was doing he smiled again and said, “Now we’ll get you just as snug as a bug in a rug. Ha ha.”

 

Phoebe whined, “Must you? Must you tie me up so? Why do have to be such a rough, horrible man and tie a person to a chair? If you’ll untie me I’ll do anything you want. I’ll let you put your penis in my mouth.”

 

Brody laughed, “You don’t need to be untied to do that. The fact is you’re going to be tied dearie, like it or not.”

 

It made Phoebe mad with excitement to plead with Brody and it made her even more agitated when she felt him begin encircling her body and arms with a rather immense quantity of rope. The rope was wrapped below her bosom and above her elbows, sandwiching the backrest of the chair between her arms and body. She felt and saw him cinching the rope between her arms and body on either side in a way that the cinching was inside the outer posts of the chair’s backrest. She was now attached to the chair at her upper body and her ankles. She thought Brody might be finished now, but he wasn’t. He came around to the front with yet another length of rope and pulled her skirt up and began wrapping the rope around her legs above her knees. He cinched this between her legs and the feeling of his hands on her thighs made Phoebe draw in a sharp breath as the throbbing between her legs increased a notch. Brody tied the knot at the top of her thighs and left her skirt somewhat bunched halfway between her knees and hips.

 

Phoebe was fully clothed, but she felt naked. She was so totally helpless and incapable of movement that she felt packaged – very neatly packaged. Then Brody disappeared behind her again and the next thing she knew he had slipped the scarf between her teeth and in no time she was once again effectively gagged. She decided to reward them both with a violent struggle. She twisted and thrashed and mmphed and flexed every muscle in her body against the ropes, but she was held fast in every direction. The chair creaked and squeaked, but it was a stout old piece of furniture and she was inescapably lashed to it.

 

Phoebe’s mind began to talk to her unbidden, “Now this is what is meant as being bound and gagged. This is like a mystery novel illustration.”

 

She relaxed finally and her only movements were a gentle wriggling driven by her excited anticipation of what was surely coming next. She noticed Brody had moved to one of the couches so he could look at her. He was sipping his wine and looking cool and collected except for a certain devilish glow. She noticed that he glanced at her feet and for the first time she was aware that in her struggles she had lost a shoe. With the toes of the one shoeless stocking foot she searched for the shoe, but it was evidently out of reach. She bent forward as far as she could and saw part of the shoe off to one side where her pinioned ankles made it impossible to reach. She was astounded at how much more vulnerable she felt merely because of the loss of one shoe. She let the heel of the other foot slip out of its shoe, but left it on otherwise.

 

She felt that she must be a devastatingly fetching damsel. She was so glad she had seen herself all tied up in the mirror earlier in the evening. She had no worries about her appearance now, either tied or untied. “What a gift from such a strange source,” she mused.

 

She looked around the room for a clock so she could see how much longer her captivity would last. There was a clock on the mantle that said 10 o’clock. “Two more hours. The closer to midnight, the sooner the climax.” Phoebe grinned and squirmed.

 

Brody noticed this and laughed, “I’m going to leave you alone in here for awhile. I have to make a phone call to my associates and chat with them about tonight’s events. Not you – the dead man. Remember him? Ha ha. We’ll have a fitting memorial for that low criminal some other time. Let me give you a little something to remember me by.”

 

Brody stood and approached Phoebe. She could see by a glance at his crotch that he was ultra hard. Brody bent and kissed her on her gagged lips and then moved around behind her. He kissed her on her ears and neck and rubbed one of her breasts. With the other hand he began stroking her silky thighs with a maddeningly light touch. Phoebe’s whole body tensed and shivered. Powerful urges and emotions surged through her body without inhibition and with her body unable to respond these feelings redoubled their level of intensity in an attempt to help the body free itself from the ropes and force Brody to rub her harder and with more accuracy. Phoebe actually moaned.

 

When Brody moved away from her she involuntarily and violently thrashed for an instant. She threw her head back and breathed deeply and tried to simmer down. She was aware that Brody was turning off all the lights and then she was aware that she was alone in the dark parlor.

 

The house was so quiet but like so many other sensations, it seemed that the sense of hearing was enhanced when a person was helplessly tied up. Phoebe heard any number of noises. Most noticeably her chair creaked in response to her more or less constant, but gentle movements. The clock on the mantle tick-tocked. The house popped and creaked. She could hear distant animal noises from outside and the occasional automobile. Brody’s distant voice rumbled from another room as he talked on the phone.

 

The room was dark, but some light from crept in from some outside source through cracks in the curtains. Most obviously, the front porch light diffused through the front curtains to Phoebe’s right. After her eyes had become accustomed to the dark, she could dimly see through the gloom. The white ropes around her thighs seemed to glow a little.

 

The quiet darkness enhanced the weird dream state that Phoebe now recognized was a part of being bound. The outside world seemed unreal and Phoebe began to imagine what it would be like soon when she was taken and fucked. Yes, she used that word. She never used that word, but now it came into her head and she imagined being well and truly fucked. Her body signaled that it was quite happy about this thought by forcing Phoebe to struggle against her ropes. With an act of will, Phoebe stopped most of her movements – it was more pleasant to meditate and let her feelings bubble inside her as they would.

 

Phoebe slowly worked her feet until her other shoe was off and began rubbing her stocking soles against the rug on which her chair was positioned. Her whole body was now one huge nerve ending and the occasional spasm would make her body tense and she would lift her legs up on her toes. But after a period of time Phoebe noticed serenity mixed with the excitement. She and her body were now reconciled to whatever time they would be forced to wait. This allowed Phoebe to more fully explore what it meant to be tied up without it sending her into a frustrated series of involuntary struggles. She twisted gently, but constantly against the ropes, just enough to feel them tighten their grip and hold her fast. It was astounding to her how the surprise at not being able to move seemed to be a constant. It was less shocking now than at first, but still a powerful part of the experience. She knew when she was in the throes of sexual extremis that the surprise at being bound would be a powerful ingredient in ramping up her passion.

 

The feel of the ropes was hard to describe. On the one hand it seemed impossible that such thin, soft cords could hold her so resolutely, but the way they were tied, they didn’t feel like thin cords – they felt like soft, thick, unyielding bands wherever they were wrapped around her. When she was still, they felt snug, but not terribly obtrusive. When she moved they simply stopped her. She thought, “I must trust this man like I’ve never trusted anyone else. Objectively it is an extreme situation to find oneself in – hands, feet and body completely bound and a thick gag in one’s mouth. But even the first time he tied me, when I was really a prisoner, I wasn’t frightened and I soon was having fun with it. But it is so extreme. To be strong and healthy and full of fight and yet completely unable to free myself from these ropes.” She moved her legs and feet around in all directions as if to give a physical demonstration of her thoughts. Her shoulders twisted and her hands waved behind her. She imagined how she must look in the darkness. How shocking it would be to the average person to come in this room and flip on the lights and see her tied so tightly to this chair. Phoebe amused herself briefly by listening to herself mouth some of these comments through her gag. She giggled.

 

She looked at the clock. She had been sitting this way for thirty minutes. “Time is as distorted as everything else by being tied up.” Phoebe reflected on a certain irony inherent in her bound state. Usually when she was sitting still, doing nothing, she was bored and time dragged. Phoebe was someone who would find something to do even if it was just to sit and read an uninteresting magazine. She had tried meditation and understood the value of it, but found action more satisfying. Now she was forced to sit essentially motionless. She couldn’t stir from the chair and yet the time flew by. Her mind had become supercharged and her internal musings were intensely interesting and infinitely capable of being more deeply explored. As she looked around the room, everything that she could see in the gloom was fascinating. Her senses had become unnaturally acute and this accounted for the feeling that she was in a state of dreamlike hallucination. The anticipation of being ravished by Brody had sent a constant stream of sexual hormones coursing through her. The extended period of time that she was forced to experience this had made her feel so saturated with stimulation that there was a drug-like quality to her perceptions.

 

It was Saturday night and she had been at work only a little more than 24 hours before, but leaving the office the day before seemed like it had happened a month earlier. She wondered if being tied up immediately after work might be an effective way to put some distance between herself and the stress of a working day. “I’ll have to come home sometime and make sure Brody is there waiting for me. I’ll tell him I’m ‘fit to be tied’ and I’ll bet the work day will recede to nothing.”

 

Phoebe’s mind began to turn in on itself more and more as she sat there longer. Disconnected images began to run through her mind. She saw herself tied in many situations, in different outfits. The thought of being tied naked made her shiver. Phoebe couldn’t see behind her, but she was immediately aware of Brody’s presence when he quietly entered the room. It was as if she was sending out radar waves. Her intuition was proved correct when Brody switched on a tall, antique floor lamp next to one of the couches. It was as if she were bound on stage and suddenly the spotlight found her.

 

Phoebe tried to see him by turning first one way and then the other, but she only caught fleeting glances in her peripheral vision. Then she felt him directly behind her. He kissed her on the neck and with one hand rubbed her breasts and with the other he once again lightly brushed her thighs. This time he was more on target. His fingers sought out her bare breasts beneath her blouse and bra and he began actually rubbing directly between her legs with two fingers of one hand. Phoebe closed her eyes and was transported into a state of bliss. It was as if a powerful itch was now being scratched. She writhed and tried to arch herself against the ropes in an effort to increase the gentle pressure that Brody was offering her. She wanted just a little more than he was giving and she was dimly aware that her hands were desperately waving around behind her and that her feet were scrabbling on the floor and pulling against the short rope that leashed her ankles to the chair rung. Brody continued this treatment for much longer than he had before and Phoebe was rhythmically moving in time to his strokes on her bosom and between her legs. She wished she wasn’t gagged so she could kiss him, but she was keenly aware on some basic level that she wasn’t in any position to influence events. But the rising and excruciating pleasure was of a quality she had never experienced before. It was not totally unlike their regular sex, but there was still that feeling that she was entering deeper and deeper into an enchanted place that had only given hints of its existence before.

 

She heard herself say, “I could go on like this forever.” She said this aloud without meaning to and was startled to hear, “I ub o om I iph o-eh-uh.” This sudden reminder of being bound and gagged tipped her over an emotional boundary of some sort and her entire body spasmed in response. She thrashed and struggled to get Brody’s hands to work harder and faster, and in response, all the ropes that bound her tightened their grip and held her. She heard herself moaning from what seemed like a great distance – moaning that was punctuated by the occasional squeal. She was vaguely aware that she had lifted her heels so they were hooked over the rung of the chair and that this made the ropes tighter still. Her entire body was clenched.

 

She began bucking a little in an erratic and uncontrolled manner that she knew was a prelude to orgasm. Were it not for the ropes she would be gracefully arching herself into Brody’s touch, but the ropes were causing the sort of desperate, uncoordinated movements that indicated how ineffectively she could respond to his touch. It was all in his hands. Then she began to feel the massive power of incipient orgasm. It was like watching the biggest storm cloud she had ever seen advance toward her from the horizon.

She had never felt such a giant movement from within her body. But then there was a break in the action.

 

She opened her eyes and found that Brody had stepped back and was no longer touching her. She protested most vigorously and with actual indignation. She twisted her entire body in the chair as much as the ropes would allow so that she could see him behind her and said, “Don’t you dare stop now mister! You come back here right goddamn now and finish me off! You can’t do that and just walk away you son of a bitch!”

 

What Brody heard was a stream of vehement, incoherent syllables, but her meaning was more than clear. She kept jerking against the ropes and her hands were alternately clenched into fists and open with her fingers waving. Every muscle in her legs was sharply defined and the smooth soles of her stocking feet were curving as her toes pushed against the floor, making the chair rock back and forth, and creak. Brody found it deeply exciting to see such powerful legs so effectively packaged into one unit. He liked the way the ropes dented her flesh and how her stockings wrinkled at her knees and heels. He was so glad she had lost her shoes.

 

Brody smiled and pointed at the huge bulge in his trousers, “Hey, sweetums, this isn’t exactly easy for me either you know. Of course I could jerk off if I wanted to and I daresay you would find that impossible, but just try to savor the feeling. How often do you get to feel like you do now?” Brody was gently stroking her hair and looking into her angry face. “And anyway, I can promise you, when I come back you’ll thank me. Trust me. Bye bye for now, my sweet patootie.” Before Brody left the room he untied the rope that leashed Phoebe’s ankles to the chair rung. He didn’t explain why nor did he say anything at all before he left the room whistling a little tune. He left the one light on.

 

Phoebe stamped her stocking feet flat on the floor repeatedly and went, “Um Um UMMMM!” through her gag.

 

When she could no longer hear Brody’s steps she relaxed her body out of sheer frustration and exhaustion. She was damp all over and positively wet between her legs. The gag was soaked with spit. She looked down at her bosom and saw that Brody’s attentions there had opened her blouse wide and she could see almost all of the top of her breasts. They were still in her bra, but the sight of her dishabille made her feel as if she had been “prepared” by Brody. She had been gotten ready for the climax and now she would have to wait. Her blouse was open, her skirt was bunched at the very top of her thighs, her shoes were off and her hair was flying everywhere. She was happy that her feet could now move around more. Although still snugly bound together at her thighs and ankles, she could stretch her legs out in front of her and move them around from side to side. Phoebe discovered that she could assuage a little of her sexual tension by her ability to rub her feet on the carpet for a greater distance. “We take what we can get when we’re tied up,” she said to herself in mood of practical resignation to her fate.

 

But Phoebe was in a desperate state. There was a buzzing between her legs that was like a chainsaw and it coursed throughout her body. She had been tied up like this for about an hour and she was beginning to notice a little stiffness in her shoulders, but the tense excitement overwhelmed all other feelings, physical and emotional. She settled down into a gentle writhing that satisfied her need to move while not awakening the full measure of her desire – her need – to be touched with authority and dispatch. Finally she was able to recover that interesting combination of stimulation and serenity that she was coming to feel was perhaps the most intensely pleasurable prelude to actual sex that she could imagine. She pictured herself in some future scenario all tied and waiting in a bedroom, alone, but filled with provocative thoughts and keen anticipation. It was the enforced anticipation that was so effective. She had felt it before when she would drive to Brody’s house after work, knowing that they would go to bed at some point, but being roped sent her into an intensity of expectation that was unprecedented in her experience.

 

As Phoebe sat bound to her chair and gagged, coming to terms with such powerful concentrations of emotion, Brody had his own plans. When he left her he left the house by the back door and in the darkness circled the house and went up the high stairs to the front porch. He quietly positioned himself next to the parlor window and lit a cigarette. He had left a strategically placed opening in the curtains of this window and could see Phoebe perfectly. He watched her with mounting emotion. She seemed to him to be in constant, but almost undetectable motion except for an occasional shiver, which would cause her to twist against her bonds. She was constantly repositioning her feet and legs and would rub her feet against the carpet. Her face revealed her inner emotions. She would close her eyes and then open them wide and look around the room as if seeing it for the first time. She seemed reconciled to her captivity – she didn’t actively struggle as if trying to escape, but she would investigate her bonds. She would tentatively pull or push against the ropes as if simply to feel them. She would also look at herself to the extent that she could. Brody saw her lift her legs straight in front of her a couple of times as if to admire how they looked bound together. She did have such beautiful legs. They were so slim, but so powerful looking. Her shoulders were much the same. Her entire body had a languid grace that was surprisingly enhanced by being packaged so rigidly. He remembered how she had looked with just her wrists and ankles tied. She was so limber that with the minimal bonds, she almost didn’t look tied up at all. It was only when she tried extreme movements that her helplessness would be revealed.

 

He noticed too that she would still unconsciously try to maintain proper posture and positioning of her hands and feet when she wasn’t testing the ropes. Throughout this deeply moving observation of the woman he loved, admired and respected, Brody was deciding what to do with her next. There was only an hour to go until midnight. How much should he tease her? Should he tie her differently for the great climax? Should he actually fuck her or should he use his fingers? He had the sudden image of her tied to the big old bed upstairs and decided that he would take her there, tie her to the bed with her legs spread and then play it by ear. He would be a little rough and he would be silent. No talking. If she wanted to jabber away through her gag, she could have an incoherent, one-way conversation that would excite them both, he was sure. He would keep his face composed and emotionless. His movements would be quick and decisive, but his touch would be feather light. Brody snubbed out his cigarette and went back around the house the way he had come. Then he changed his mind. He thought that coming through the front door might be unexpected and alarming – a harmless way of heightening the sense of danger.

 

Meanwhile, Phoebe had found herself doing a little clock watching. It was now 11:10. Brody better get busy. Then to her horror, she heard the front door open and slam. She couldn’t really see who was coming into the room from behind her and her pulse raced. Then she could tell it was Brody and she was flooded with relief – gratitude almost. This released a flood of expectations concerning what was to happen next. Phoebe was shocked to find herself bouncing up and down in her chair – to the extent that her bonds would allow – and laughing. She composed herself, but couldn’t help but squirm. She found herself kicking her bound feet out in front of her and then bouncing her legs up and down on her toes.

 

To her surprise she felt Brody untie the rope around her body and arms that attached her to the chair. He did this as if he was in a hurry. When Phoebe was free of the chair, Brody picked her up, slung her over his shoulder face down and Phoebe experienced the dizzying sensation of being carried up the stairs upside down and backwards. She was delighted. She was carried into a bedroom and lowered onto the bed face down. Brody straddled her and untied her hands. Immediately he forced her hands above her head and tied them together palm to palm. Then with a short length of rope, he leashed her wrists to a horizontal post of the headboard that ran above the pillows. He flipped Phoebe over so she was on her back with her hands tied high above her head to the headboard. She was still gagged and a low, bubbling laugh was escaping from behind her gag. She lifted her head from the pillow and watched as Brody untied the ropes around her thighs and ankles. She felt almost free and she waved her legs around and swept her stocking feet across the bed, feeling the texture of the bedspread on the soles of her feet. With all this sudden attention and all the efforts to keep her helpless, Phoebe was conscious of feeling very valuable. She was Brody’s prize and he would not be denied.

 

When she saw what he intended to do next, she fought him. He was wrapping rope around one ankle until it was encircled by a thick softness. Then he looped a shorter length somewhere on the outside of her her ankle rope and leashed that foot to the far post of the footboard. She did her best to stop him, but he was so strong. With her free leg, she tried to kick him. He dispassionately dodged her kicks and without discernable effort, tied that foot to the other bedpost. She was now tied to the bed in three places with her legs widely spread. The dampness between her legs made her feel a sudden coolness that indicated that her vulva was completely unprotected. Modesty was impossible. Struggle was less than useless.

 

She had never felt so vulnerable – so open to violation. Brody stepped back from the bed and surveyed his handiwork. His distance and obvious patience made Phoebe’s body spasm. Her body wanted to suck him in. Then Brody approached the bed. He brusquely pulled open her blouse, buttons popping everywhere, and yanked its tail out of her skirt. He took a small knife out of his pocket and cut her bra in three places and threw it on the floor. This development made Phoebe’s body feel as if an electric shock had gone through it and she struggled furiously. But through her gag she shouted, “That’s great, that’s it!” Brody got the message, although what he heard was, “Aph aaph, aph iff!”

 

Brody then bunched her skirt up around her waist, exposing all her pantyhose top. With the knife he carefully slit the pantyhose until Phoebe was completely exposed. While he was doing this, Phoebe nervously watched and stayed still, but then began trying to make her hips into a moving target. Tied the way she was, there was almost no room for movement. She was stretched almost to the limit. She threw her head back and waited. Then she felt the two middle fingers of Brody’s hand stroking her between her legs. Her hands flailed above her and her feet pointed and her legs flexed. She arched her body to meet Brody’s hand, but he kept the pressure soft and the stroking slow and regular. She knew now that he wouldn’t leave her frustrated and she abandoned herself to that vividly enchanted place in her mind where she had spent so much of the last three hours.

 

She kept telling herself for her own benefit how helpless she was to start or stop anything that was happening, “Even if I wanted him to stop, even if I had struggled for all I was worth, I couldn’t have prevented him from brutally cutting off my clothes and touching me wherever he wanted. I’m helplessly tied. My mouth is gagged and I can’t cry out for help.” She saw herself as she must look, and the image was so vivid that it seemed like an out-of-body experience. For some reason the next image she saw was of herself dressed in an office outfit, but tied tightly on the couch with her shoes off and her feet curled around her. Brody was bringing her a drink, but he had to help her drink it.

 

Phoebe was dimly aware that she was screaming bloody murder through her gag, but it seem far far away and in her mind she was in the most beautiful, vivid dream she had ever been in. Brody’s touch was like water to a deeply thirsty woman. She almost couldn’t bear it, so extremely pleasurable was the gentle stroking. It made her move and struggle against the ropes involuntarily and the feeling of the ropes holding her fast made the excitement all that more acute. She was breathing hard now and she was wet with sweat. Once she was aware that Brody had wiped a bit of snot from under her nose and she giggled and yelled as loud as she could, “Thank you!” or more accurately, “ank ooo!”

 

Finally something really huge began to stir deep within her and although her body was bound and helpless, her mind was perfectly capable of approaching this huge, throbbing feeling that seemed as big as a giant weather system. She could approach it in her mind, but because of the ropes holding her body, she couldn’t quite force the pace of events as long as Brody kept his strokes so light. The huge thing built up slowly until she was on the edge of it. It was as if she were on the top of rising wave that wouldn’t quite break, but just kept getting higher and higher. Phoebe had the absurd thought that she would have a very difficult time indeed describing the intensity and quality of this experience to her friend Bebe. She remembered a discussion they had had not long before when they were merely talking about normal, everyday orgasms and Phoebe thought that what was about to happen to her must make those seem of very little consequence. “I will be spoiled rotten.” She heard herself yell this phrase out loud and the hilarity of that flipped some sort of master switch and the wave of her orgasm broke and sent her rushing down its roaring face.

 

Her body was jerking spasmodically and trying desperately to get free of her bonds. She was only aware that she had totally lost control of her movements and that her body was possessed by a power that simply could not be comprehended. Phoebe was yelling, “Oh oh oh!” and her body was propelling her mind down the face of a massive slope at what felt like incredible speed. Her primary emotion was one of profound happiness and a giddy sense not unlike that when going downhill on a really frightening roller coaster. It was fun, it was brutally exciting, it was sad and it was happy. It was, in a word, sublime.

 

When the roaring in her head began to diminish, Phoebe felt almost as if she were coming out of a faint. She was laughing and crying uncontrollably and was as limp as an old wet dishrag, which she felt she must somewhat resemble. She could see Brody standing back from the bed and looking at her with the smugness of a fellow who has given a gift that just can’t be beat.

 

Phoebe waved her nearest, still bound, foot at Brody. He laughed and said, “You look so calm and happy. I trust you enjoyed the experience? Ah, but you have something in your mouth that prevents you from communicating. I’ll take it out when I come back from making us both a drink.” Phoebe smiled and giggled as she watched Brody leave. She was perfectly happy to stay tied up for a while. She felt both sleepy and alert and her limbs rested light and easy in the ropes that bound them. She did feel a stream of spit creeping along her jaw and neck, but she could have cared less.

 

Brody walked in and put the drinks in a little sitting area he had set aside at the front of the bedroom where it overlooked the street. It was in a round little nook that must correspond with the round turret on a front corner of the house, Phoebe decided. Brody approached her and untied her feet and hands. She slowly, languidly sat up on the side of the bed and bent her head for the gag to be untied. She stood up and grabbed Brody and they kissed long and deeply. When they broke off the kiss, Phoebe gave Brody the sweetest smile he had ever seen. It was as if her face had gained an entirely new expression. Then Phoebe looked down at herself.

 

“Ho! Just look at me. Where I’m not naked, I’m dressed in rags.” She looked at Brody with mock anger, “I think the only intact clothing I have in this house is one pair of shoes.” She began shedding what was left of her clothes and after an awkward moment, Brody ran to his closet and got her one of his largest, longest dress shirts. He wrapped it around her. Phoebe went to the sitting area and curled up on the couch. She looked at Brody, “What now, you brutal man? Am I to be kept prisoner here and tied up whenever you feel the urge to purge?”

 

Brody smiled brightly, “I’ve got the high ground over you there. As it turns out, you’re the only one who’s been purged this evening. I sacrificed and focused all attention on you. Perhaps you should be kept prisoner until you develop a more grateful attitude.”

 

Phoebe looked over the rim of her glass at Brody, “Give me an hour or so and we’ll see if I am receptive to receiving your attentions – in a more conventional manner of course. I think I’ve been tied up enough for now. But I have to tell you that I cannot describe the power of my recent experience tied to that bed. Words are inadequate. I presume you saw some evidence of that in my outward reaction? My God, what was I yelling? That’s just not like me. There’s something strangely and ironically liberating about being physically bound.”

 

Brody said, “You were a lovely and awesome sight. You were like the most graceful and beautiful animal I’ve ever seen. I thought I loved you before, but I’m sure now. So you want to do that again?”

 

Phoebe said, “I insist. You’ll have to show me this tie-up manual you have. What’s it called – something like ‘Tying People Up for Fun and Profit?’ I’ve got some ideas about this little game, but we need to figure out a way to both plan these episodes, and keep them as spontaneous-seeming as possible. I find it a little sad that never again will I be really, truly tied up, in all innocence, against my will. From now on I will be a collaborator.”

 

They sat there late into the night talking about what had just happened, their feelings, their plans. They made love on the bed later and as they lay there afterwards, Phoebe had a sudden horrifying thought. “Brody, what about that man you killed? What if he has friends out there looking for us? Surely he knows where you live. How could I have forgotten about that?”

 

Brody rolled over and smiled patiently, “Don’t you worry about that guy. When I talked to my associates, they got right on the case. As of this moment, they are sitting in cars surrounding the house. Tomorrow we will look into it further. They’re hoping to catch someone creeping up on us tonight and have a chat with him. I told them you were in on the secret. You’re almost a secret agent now sweetie – a gen-u-ine double-nought spy. Ha ha. We might have to hang around here all day tomorrow and keep you under restraint until your training period is over. And you have a sad lack of clothing on hand.”

 

Phoebe hit him and snuggled up close. They fell asleep dreaming of danger, damsels, villains and heros.

 

Copyright, Rayron D’Olier, 2005

 

 

 

 

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