Chapter 1
Why?
I must stop thinking about escape. There is no escape, and dwelling on it only weakens my ability to cope. It is by coping with Jason that may get me out of this jackpot. If he believes he has broken me - or that I wish to be broken! It is his obsession with the belief that every girl secretly wishes to be broken which may enable me to defeat him.
Jason is not insane. I have to be glad of that. But it's bad enough the way it is. It is his very rationality which makes it possible for him to do what he has done. He has made me vanish. Miss Carrie Carstairs has ceased to exist. He has erased me with letters and phone calls as though I had never been. I have signed my name so many times, damn him! Always under duress, always aware of alternative pain. It is so easy to abduct a girl, so shockingly easy!
He isn't always cruel. He keeps me handcuffed to something while he goes to work. If I make him angry he ties me up tight instead. But a bit of me remains handcuffed to something solid anyway, so there isn't even any use me struggling, I'm not going to get away, no matter what. And he keeps me naked, always naked. Oh shit! I keep trying to persuade him about some clothes, even a square to knot over one hip, but he never seems to hear. He says I'm easy to control when naked, and easy to punish, and it keeps me in the state of mind he thinks I should be. Damn him, he's right on all counts!
He varies my security from day to day. At the moment I've got a chain padlocked round my tummy, the other end's attached to the house. I can do things, and it reaches to the bathroom. But my range has been stripped of anything I want. It's the most sterile bit of footage in America. There's no escape with hacksaws or bobby pins or anything. Where this damn house is I've no idea. My restraints keep me away from windows, and nobody ever rings the bell. I've screamed and screamed ....! I'm sure it's in the City someplace but it must be off on its own.
Sitting alone in whatever way he's chained or tied me I'm always ashamed of myself for doing or being what Jason sees as natural in a girl. I'm twenty-four. Before he kidnapped me I was an executive secretary. I knew where I was and where I was going. I never came anywhere near being the submissive maiden with palpitating pussy which Jason believes all girls are beneath their surface. But a month's course of what he's doing to me, he calls it training, is turning me into just that. For the first week of this captivity I was a raging fury, fighting him tooth and nail. But I simply got a bellyfull of being punished and tied up. I'm not brainwashed, I'm being realistic. Jason's got me but good! It doesn't make sense to get my bottom whipped twice a day because I'm angry and cheesed off. That whip he uses to punish me hurts worse than all get out!
My trouble is that Jason's charming and good company. I get so bored and lonely in my chain, or whatever, that I'm glad to see him when he comes back from the office. I'm absurdly glad and behave outrageously in my need to chatter and to be reassured I still mean something to someone. I play the douce damsel of his dream because it feels so good to have his hands lovingly in my hair or on my breasts or even lower down. Loneliness in chains is devastating in the way it drives me to think of sex, sex, sex ....!
My behaviour over the sexual act itself is what bugs me worst of all. Jason insists I have to be tied for it, and for the first week he was dead right on that. There was no way then I was willing to lay down and spread my legs. But the fact is Jason has a thing about tying me up. It's an end in itself which gives him immense sexual pleasure. I suppose it's having a naked girl so completely helpless and at his mercy that turns him on. Anyway, even after he'd whipped me into obedience, the tying continued when we had sex. Always the same with me spreadeagled on the bed, really conventional. But, gosh, it was awful that first time! I felt ninety percent pussy and pubic hair.
But now it's a ritual. There's a room and a bed, and the bed has wristlets and anklets top and bottom. They attach to the four corners and can be easily tightened or loosened, not by me but by him! When he desires me he simply unlocks me from whatever I'm attached to, and says casually: "I want to fuck you, darling." Then darling, that's me, gratefully leads the way to the trick room and disposes herself on the bed for his utmost convenience in strapping me down with my legs a mile apart ....!
I've come to look forward to it. Oh, damn!
Of course there's still the nights. My nights vary by the grace and goodwill of His Majesty. Often I am allowed to share his bed. My ankle is chained to a ring in the floor but the chain is long and does not hinder me in doing whatever I must to please him. Jason has these rings all over the house so I can be conveniently attached anyplace he wants me. If I am not in favour he may chain me on the floor beside his bed with just a blanket to keep me company while he snores. But if I'm really in disgrace I could be tied to a post in the basement or to a chair in the kitchen. Jason is a great believer in variety. Once more I'm ashamed at hoping I'll be in bed with him tonight.
The big question is: Where is Carrie Carstairs going? Jason refuses to talk about it, so I'm forced to suppose I'm not going anywhere, this is it! He's so damn happy with his possession of me. It's not as though he wants to marry me and I won't. Or that I'm holding out on some big secret. Or that somebody's paying him to keep me out of the way. Jason wanted to own a girt. He chose me. He abducted me, and here I am. I could scream at the way it's been so easy for him. I'm honestly surprised there's a girl walking around out there free. Gosh, the way we can be picked up and kept as pretty pets like a birdie in a cage ....! Oh, damn, damn, damn ...!
I even feel guilty and ashamed about Jason punishing me. At least about some of the penalties he inflicts. I'm not the naughty little girl with a bad conscience, I'm the naughty big girl who gets an erotic thrill out of provoking a male who, to all intents and purposes, is my owner. I like to think I do it because I'm bored, I hope that is the reason. In this peculiar slavery it's so damn hard not to be a silly feminine hypocrite. The first time Jason tied me naked over a bench and gave my bare bottom six cuts with a riding crop I hated it and I howled in anger, shock and pain. I still don't ask for it to happen, but when it does I make quite different sounds and am so horny afterwards I want him to put me out of my agony right there. But Jason knows! He's a sly bastard. He leaves me tied and sweating and goes away, it's part of my punishment. I try and rub up against whatever I'm tied to: sometimes I'm lucky! You've no idea of the effect of a blazing bottom on a girl's libido. It shocked the pants off me! But there are also the other kinds of punishment, the one's which keep me behaving the way he wants. I don't like them at all.
Women's Lib' may as well forget it. The physical strength of the Male knocks the props out from under all their pretence. Jason can subdue me so easily I want to weep in frustration. In those first days when I fought all the time I was rewarded only by humiliation and chagrin: and then punished to boot. Mostly now I don't bother to fight, I dispose my person for his pleasure and save myself some lumps. But once in awhile he'll surprise me into instinctive revolt with some of his erotic notions. Then, by the time he's subdued me or I've subdued myself, I've earned a punishment; one of the sort I don't want ...! So why bother!
I don't hate Jason. I'm not sure of his feelings towards me. I'm a beautiful bundle comprising all sorts of things for male pleasure. I'm a naked female. I'm a good conversationalist. I can see good reasons for his sequestering me for his personal enjoyment. But beyond that I haven't managed to penetrate. He could be preparing me as a human sacrifice, or training me for sale to a rich lecher. I think of the damndest things and they could all happen.
I'm nice. I know I'm nice. I think that word is right for me. I'm a delectable female package. My breasts are superlative they have to be to get the job I used - to have. My tummy's flat and I've got a really pretty little pussy, a neat slit in a curly bush. Jason knew what he was doing when he stole me. I'm not a bit hypocritical or shy about Me. I'm nice. I'm grade 'A'. And being twenty-four makes me a lot more interesting than an eighteen year old. But, oh boy, if I ever get a chance to escape I'll run like a jackrabbit.
I keep playing with this damn padlock. It's the only thing between me and freedom but it's enough. Right now it's right over my navel, but if I don't mind a bit of a chafe I can turn the chain so it hangs behind me like a tail and the padlock is out of sight. What a weighty decision! Hell, it's the only kind I have to face these days.
Jason dangles carrots in front of my nose. They are just plausible enough I have to look at them. It's the 'Hope springs eternal' thing. It goes something like this:
"I'd love to take you out to dinner, Carrie my sweet."
"Why don't you? I'd love it."
"A touch of sarcasm, darling. You're not quite ready."
"Sure I'm ready, Jason. The waiter won't raise an eyebrow over my chains. You can let me wear a little something."
"Clothes spoil the effect, darling."
"I don't mind going naked, Jason. Just so long as you're not embarrassed. If I was neatly handcuffed wouldn't that do?"
"It would do to get us both into the local Precinct. Carrie my love, we'll have to wait until your homing instinct gets stronger."
"Jason, dear, please let me give you my word of honour: you know the parole thing? I'd love to go out to dinner. I'll be ever so obedient and come back here with you. I promise. "
-That's the way we talk. Repartee with underlying possibilities. Lovely visions to keep me alive. Sometimes I think I'd honestly honour a parole and come back and let myself be chained again, my yearning for life and people and fun is that strong. But he can't trust me, he can't possibly, and I've no idea how I'd act if it ever happened.
I hear the front door being unlocked, and am immediately a'quiver with excitement. Silly girl! But my owner is coming home and he's all I've got. Not that I really have him, he's got me. But still ... ! I've made up my mind to ask him the fatal question.
"Hello, sweetness! Nice day?"
"Jason, you know perfectly well I've been chained here like a puppy dog."
"Sure, but was it a nice day?"
"I suppose so. I don't seem to hurt anywhere."
"That's my girl! I had a lousy day but coming home to you makes it right. Aren't you glad I don't take out my trials and trib's on you?"
"Yes, Jason. Thank you. Jason, please unchain me. I hate this padlock, it sorts of mocks me. If you let me loose I can get your supper?"
"Promises, promises! Darling, you look far too sweet to change. Anyway, I bought something home, it's in the oven. It can wait while we fuck."
I make no demur. My spine is tingling and my sex a'flame. I could not care less about supper. I stand, quivering, while Jason turns the key in my padlock to cause the chain to uncurl from my waist and clatter to the floor. Without a word, I go to the room and to the bed. I lay nakedly on my back and spread my limbs. Jason buckles my wrists and ankles and pulls on the straps until I am as tight as he desires. While I watch him undress I savour all the erotic anticipations of every rape that ever was. I become the eternal maiden, bound and helpless, to appease the lust of Man.
It's my lust too, and I love it!
After satiety gives way to appetite I am dressed for dinner. My costume is classically simple, a pair of handcuffs, worn in front. Since they stop me doing very little, they are symbolic. They gleam and clink charmingly as we eat. Jason goes to the fridge and gets the bottle of wine he has brought home for this occasion. Two glasses of it give me courage.
"Jason, what are you going to do with me?"
I suppose it is a silly question, but it is the only one I have that really matters. It strikes his imperturbability and falls shattered into the silence in which he surveys me with that indulgence adults reserve for precocious children. He sips gently.
"I'm already doing it." His tone is patient.
"You're keeping me prisoner." I clink my handcuffs. "And you're fucking me." I try and look charmingly coy. "But it's a terribly limited existence."
"About the same as the average housewife. The only difference is those handcuffs."
I am shocked to realize how nearly right he is. But I retort, petulantly: "They get to go out and around. I can't even get out of the house."
"Lucky girl! Saves you a lot of discontented window shopping. Being nude is woman's true emancipation. Every wife should be kept chained at home."
"Alright then, how about marrying me?"
"I don't follow your logic, sweetheart."
I don't either, but I grope around and lamely suggest: "Well, marriage is a sort of bond, it makes me your property. It would be a lot more comfortable than being tied up."
"We could honeymoon at Alcatraz." He says thoughtfully. "But no! You'd be off to mother the next day."
"I don't have a mother."
"A Lawyer ... maybe the police?"
"Jason, be serious. Where will I be five years from now?"
"Right here. Same handcuffs. ..."
There is that in his voice which tells me to shut up. To nag him is a punishable offence, always painful. Beneath all this cheerful domesticity is the iron hand. If I was to run for the door ... ! Ugh! So now I pick up on one of his own little pleasantries.
"So I'm your prisoner for life! O.K. But, Jason, you talked about taking me out to dinner ... ?"
"Sweetness, I wish we could." He is sincere.
"I promise to come back here with you and let myself be chained. Honest!"
He shakes his head. "That's asking too much of a girl. You couldn't keep such a promise."
"Jason, I could! You don't understand girls. I'd be so grateful ... I'd obey you."
"Come back to all the punishments I use to keep you in line!"
"Why not? Wives go back to husbands who beat them." For the moment I have become interesting. Jason eyes me as something more than a receptacle for sperm. Slowly he asks: "How about a ride in the car? It would get you out, be a change ... ?"
His tone is so diffident I know he means it. I am instantly aglow. "Oh, Jason, would you! Oh, please?"
"I'd have to tie you up ... tight?"
"I don't mind. Jason, I want you to tie me. That way you won't worry. I won't be a nuisance."
We settle for that. I am bubbling with wine and excitement. But at bedtime I am chained on the floor with the blanket. I suppose it's something to do with the male ego.
I have to wonder if the way Jason and I talk is a false note. I've a feeling that in a book I'd be maintaining a haughty silence interspersed by screams, epithets should abound. After being flogged I would agree to call him "Master." But, somehow, it hasn't been like that. We both uttered a few bad words in the first week but a normal exchange seems to serve us best. I notice the way he keeps me polite and respectful. He insists on that. He had to remind me a few times with the riding crop, and that can still happen when I get carried away. But mostly I'm glad about it. I like myself better as a polite prisoner rather than a female who snarls or sulks. He won't go for sulking either. If I sulk he'll give me something to sulk about! He's almost turning me into what mother would have called "A nice young lady!"
I'm so damned excited about this car ride I'm ashamed. It's no big deal, but I'm going to see people and things and places. I feel absurdly grateful to Jason. After all, he doesn't have to! Maybe he likes me a little ... The black body stocking is a relief. It fits like a glove but covers the bits of me society disapproves of. I'd fully expected to get my car ride naked. Jason has a Thing about tying bare skin, he distrusts clothes. He has told me more than once: "No way can you tie a girl safely over her clothes, she'll wiggle out for sure." I don't argue because I've never been tied up with my clothes on. Until Jason grabbed me I'd never been tied up at all.
I'm trembling as I stand beside his car in the garage. I'm nervous and excited, a silly girl! Jason is fiddling with ropes. I would once have viewed those ropes with pure horror. Now they are old friends, by whose good graces I'm at last getting out of this house.
"Hands behind you, sweetheart."
I am ready for that command. My arms position themselves like trained soldiers. I thrill as my hands are placed palm to palm and my wrists tied together. I suspect Jason is clever with rope. It certainly feels clever as he makes me helpless. When another rope goes round my elbows and pulls them together so they hurt I try and sound helpfully informative.
"That hurts a lot, Jason. You don't need to tie my elbows, I couldn't get my wrists free in a hundred years."
"Stops you struggling, Carrie, makes you sit still."
"But it makes my breasts stick way out!"
"What's wrong with that!"
"You don't want me to attract attention, do you?"
"They'd have to stick their head in the window to see your tits. Hold still. I'm going to put several strands round to ease the pressure."
I stand obediently. After all, what's a bit of pain! Jason pushes and pulls until my elbows almost touch, then he does the cinch thing that tells a girl she's never, never going to get herself free. I look down at my breasts, they are well worth a glance. My nipples must like the body stocking, they are pushing at it ... hard!
"I'm beautifully helpless, Jason. You haven't a thing to worry about."
"Good! Into the front with me - here, I'll help."
It feels lovely. I snuggle. Jason ties my ankles together. I am now about as active as an Egyptian mummy. The motor starts and the door opens. I am blinded by light, and forget to look back at the house as we roll down the street. I know I'm ridiculous, but I felt impelled to ask:
"Jason, shouldn't I be gagged? I mean, just suppose--!"
He is delighted with me. I suppose I sounded sweetly naive. "I'm trusting you, Carrie." He chuckles. "Go ahead and scream. See what happens."
"You mean you'll punish me?"
"Hell no! With the windows up no one's going to hear. Go ahead. Just once."
I screamed. It was a very lonely sound I did not like. It was as much a prisoner in the car as I myself. I had no wish to repeat. I snuggled back into the upholstery to ease my tied arms, then gave my attention to whatever I could see through the window. Seeing things was so damn good I wanted to cry. From time to time I gave my attention to Jason. His lips showed amusement, probably about me. Hell, why shouldn't he be amused! At this moment he and I are about the most bizarre couple in the U.S.A.
I couldn't forget I was tied. My elbows hurt and my ankles were corded tighter than he need have tied them. But the last thing I was going to do was complain. At a theatre you pay money for a ticket. The pain of rope was what I was paying for a glimpse of a world I hadn't seen for a long time. I found it cheap. Soon we got out into the country and I felt Jason relax. Out here there's nothing I can do to disturb his peace of mind, not a damn thing! I relax too, it's lovely. I am happy.
He took me on a wide scenic circle. It was on the way back we ran into the road block. Police cars were all over the place. To try and back and turn would be fatal. Poor Jason, he had to face it. All I could feel was embarrassment over my scanty covering. But I need not have worried. Jason reached back and produced a cape. It went from my neck to my knees. He arranged it deftly. We exchanged glances. His was enigmatic, there was something in his face I could not read. I don't know what he saw in mine.
I am ashamed of what follows. Figure it if you can. But I am not in love with Jason ... ! At least, I don't think I am. I'll kick myself for life, I just know I will. We had to halt in line. An officer questioned each car. They were looking for someone. Jason rolled down the window, and once more we exchanged glances I could not fathom. For the policeman he presented only a bland curiosity. You know about road blocks. Questions and answers, purely perfunctory since you are not what they seek. But I was a volcano, seething to erupt, yet speechless. It must have showed. The uniformed attention swiveled to me and the cape.
"You O.K., Lady?"
The tucking in of my bare tied feet was instinctive. I swear it was! The last thing I wanted right then was to have my covering stripped away and be revealed as a bound and nearly nude captive who hadn't got whatever it took to ask for help.
"Of course I'm alright." I said gracelessly.
I don't suppose anything about me looked exactly right. I was uncomfortably tied and could not move. If I could have produced a hand or waved a cigarette ... I expect I looked pathetic.
"Everything comfortable under that cape, Miss?"
Fate was handing me freedom on a plate, and what did I do with it! I didn't do a damn thing except smile sweetly and say: "I've been ill. I keep well wrapped up."
Jason and I find it hard to break the silence after the Road Block. The Road Block is past and gone but we don't know what to say. After awhile, Jason asks abruptly:
"Why?"
"I don't know why." I admit weakly.
"You had me dead to rights. It was a hazard I hadn't covered."
I wriggled to make the ropes hurt. I wanted to be reminded of what I was and what I'd thrown away. "I didn't want to get us into trouble." I offer lamely.
"You wouldn't have been in trouble, Carrie."
"Well, I guess I didn't want to get you into trouble. Look, Jason, it's no big thing. May we drop it?"
"You in love with me?" I get a searching sideways glance.
"I don't think so."
"Hell, girl, don't you know?"
"Well, alright then, I'm not! I just didn't want to see you in prison."
He digests this silently, then grins sideways. "I bet you're mad as all get out at yourself?"
As usual, he was right. "Sure I'm mad." I agree fervidly. "I expect I'll be a lot madder still." I struggled again to deliberately savour my impotence. "I just wish it hadn't happened. I suppose you'll never take me out of the house again?"
Jason unclipped the cape and set it aside, viewing my near nudity and the ropes with immense satisfaction. "May as well get a dividend out of being scared half to death." He reflected. "You look damn erotic like that, sweets: Sure I'll take you out again, but damned if I know how. Any suggestions?"
"I'll always give you a promise."
"I think that chance to escape caught you with your pants down, love. If it happened again right now you'd turn me in?" He grinned at me demandingly. "Well, would you?"
"I don't know. Oh, Jason, don't tease"
"How's about a test? I've just thought of a honey?"
I try and shrug but can't. Boy, am I trussed! Morosely, I ask: "Why would I have anything to say about it?"
"Because this whole thing means something to me: maybe more than it does to you. I'm playing a kind of Russian Roulette with you as the gun."
"Thanks a lot."
"Don't be miffed. I'm going to give you another chance; I'll pull the trigger one more time."
Jason is dead serious. I switch my attention from the scenery to him. I'm wishing more than ever we'd just had a nice uneventful ride. I find myself saying: "Jason, don't! I don't want another chance. It's too much of a strain, especially after ... I'm safely your prisoner. Be grateful."
I expect what I'm trying to do is the feminine thing of giving a man all of me in the hope of getting a little something back. Break him down with sweetness, get under his skin, make him want me minus the rope. But, shit, that's playing a game the same way he is! What the hell am I trying to prove! He's smirking now ... he's hatched something up.
"When we get home, Carrie, I'm going to whip you, whip you but good. I'll trice you up and do it properly as though you'd committed something unforgivable." Jason's tone is conversational, pleasantly outgoing as though he's promising me a real good time. I am suddenly trembling at the vision he invokes. "There's nothing you can do or say to get out of it. It will happen. You are going to be whipped, period. Understand?"
"No. I don't understand. But I heard what you said."
"O.K." I can tell he's really happy with his notion. "But it's not a one sided deal, sweetheart. You're still the kingpin because, when we get back to the City I'll put the cape back on and stop at the first cop and ask the way. I'll take as much time as I can over it. In an hour you can be a free girl."
"It's cruel."
"No it's not. You're free to make a choice."
I say, stubbornly: "I won't send you to jail. So, as a reward, I get a bloody awful whipping."
"I'm not too sure about the legal aspect, darling." Jason's voice is slow, musing, intrigued. "That's where the Russian Roulette comes in. If you ask the officer for help, but refuse to lay a charge or sign a complaint, we could find ourselves going our separate ways."
"Jason, please ... ! It will tear me in two."
"But delicious, don't you think?"
Damn him! It is delicious. I can feel the secretions flooding my sex. He has captured me, not only with his rope but with his mood. What girl ever had to face such a dilemma! It is the most impossibly erotic situation I have ever head of. I know he will do exactly what he says. In an hour or two I may be writhing under the most awful whipping he has given me ... or back in my apartment - If I still have an apartment! More probably I will be signing statements in a police station and being viewed with suspicion .... ! We could both end up in a cell! But not the same cell! I quench an impulse to giggle. Dodging dilemma, I plead: "Jason, take me home. Never mind the policeman ... please?"
"But you'd still be whipped. That wouldn't be fair."
"There's nothing fair about a girl who's naked and tied up so she can't do a damn thing!"
"You can scream, you can talk. There's a policeman in your future, darling."
"Jason, this is ridiculous. Please don't do it?"
"You enjoy being my captive maiden?"
"No I don't. But I don't like the alternative either. Jason, please don't whip me."
Here we are again, talking about the bizarre as though it was rational, accepting this fantasy of Jason's which he has made real. As though to assure myself of its reality I stretch out my tied feet and examine the cords cutting at my ankles. It is a very neat job, I cannot move them at all. I cannot see my bound arms but I can certainly feel their strictures. I am pushing them back into the corner to lean back on with comfort, thus I cannot even weave my shoulders. I am a very satisfying package for Jason, he approves of me like this. I have no doubt I look delectably helpless. Jason is considering my plea not to be whipped. He renders a calm judgment. "Sorry, sweets, It's something we have to do. I like it. It puts us both on the line." He grins charmingly. "But it gives you a head start."
"You're trying to box me in, Jason." My tone has become petulant. "You're using that pretty little precept people hang on the wall in kitchens and bedrooms about: "If you love something set it free. If it comes back it is yours. If it does not it never was." I look down at my near nudity and the thrust of my breasts. "I don't think we're going to prove a thing, except I don't want to be dragged into a precinct station in this condition."
"I don't pretend that whatever happens is Earth shattering, Carrie. But it's something I want to do, so we're going to do it." It is now my Lord and Master who is petulant, but his voice is firm. "Neither of us can be sure how you'll react until the moment comes - dammit,' girl, don't you see what a marvelously stupendous gamble this is for me?"
Sure I can see! The male ego is rampant and tugging at the leash of a new experience in which I will play the role of hare to his hounds. He must feel terribly sure of me, damn him! I toy deliciously with a vision of me saying:
"Officer, arrest this man. I have been kidnapped." Wow, that's a tremendous concept for me too! Soberly, I tell him: "Don't tempt me. These ropes hurt enough I'd like to get 'em untied."
"They will be anyway, darling. I have to untie you before you get whipped."
He's pushing me, playing his thrill for all that's in it. When I see that damn policeman I'm going to be hovering on the brink of another damn awful decision. I return my attention to the scenery. It is becoming increasingly urban. We drive in silence.
The Law is obliging. The uniformed bulk is about to enter his car as we draw level. Jason leans across my caped nakedness and lowers the window. My heart is beating so hard I am sure they will both hear its thudding. I am outrageously sexually aroused.
They make their pointless exchange of queries and directions. The officer looks more at me than at my companion. But girls are accustomed to being lusted for. That is his interest. I wish his eyes actually could strip me naked: I'd love to see his face. I sit demurely, repeating over and over in my mind: "I'm going to be terribly whipped ... whipped ... whipped! If anything will make me speak, surely that prospect should!! I smile sweetly at the minion of the law and say: "Officer, I am being kidnapped."
He is a genial soul who appreciates a joke. He touches his cap and winks. "You look real good at it, Miss. Have fun." He nods and turns away. Jason slowly edges our car back into the traffic.
I do not scream.
"Thanks, sweetheart." Jason is euphoric with success. "That little final touch of yours capped the whole thing. Dammit, that was roulette the way no Russian ever dared play."
"Do I get punished extra?"
"Hell no! What you're getting is bad enough anyway. Besides, that was a stroke of pure genius."
I am vexed. There is something I will not tell Jason. It is simply that I do not know whether I am glad or sorry over the outcome of my own game of chance in which my statement to the policeman was the same as pulling the trigger on a pistol that might or might not be loaded. I had cast my silly little loaf of bread upon the waters, what I would get back was going to be painful. I wriggle in my ropes and wish we were further from home.
The house where Jason keeps me prisoner is at the end of a cul de sac, isolated only because development has demolished old structures around but not yet started to rebuild. There are no passersby. For the time being it is a perfect place in which to keep a captive girl. I drink it all in avidly as we approach our garage. Goodness knows when I may get to see it again.
I am untied. We both exclaim over the weals the cords have imposed in my flesh. They are cruelly aesthetic. Everything about me is erotic. I divest myself of the body stocking and offer my wrists for the handcuffs. My owner has little need of orders, I know what to do. I make coffee and sandwiches which we share in the lounge. It is as though I was Jason's wife. Soon I will be whipped.
"Alright, sweetheart, clue me in."
Jason is delighted but puzzled. I am puzzled too. "It's just feminine instability, girlish emotions." I tell him diffidently. "I deserve everything it gets me."
"But are you pleased?"
"Jason, you're going to whip me! How can I be pleased? For the rest of it: I'd sooner be sitting here like this than in a detective's office."
He is hot on some sort of scent, presumably mine. He explains earnestly: "Possessing you, Carrie, keeping you captive, training you, it means a lot to me. It's the biggest thing in my life. I won't let you go, and I won't show clemency for these two acts of mercy. But I have to know: Does being naked, tied, chained, punished make you happy?"
"I threw away two chances of freedom. Is that your answer, Jason? But I still don't want to be whipped."
"Ask me not to."
"Please don't whip me?"
"Request denied. You are going to be whipped." He twinkled at me. "Deliberate cruelty, eh?"
I cannot answer. I am shamingly conscious of being wet between my legs.