Message-ID: <40540asstr$1043140205@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <3E2CD02D.0000B9.21987@ns.interchange.ca> From: "Zebulon" X-Fastmail-IP: [24.26.238.149] X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Mon, 20 Jan 2003 23:44:29 -0500 (EST) Subject: {ASSM} Part 2 - Tall, Blond and Bound (MF, FF, Bond) Date: Tue, 21 Jan 2003 04:10:05 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, dennyw Part 2 - Tall, Blond and Bound This is a work of fiction in 14 parts. It is the fourth novel set in the same world as "The Training of Jeannie and Clair," "Blackmailed into Bondage," and "Staci Davis: Investigative Slave." It is approximately the same length as the other three novels. Zebulon No reference to real persons is intended. It contains strong, non-traditional sexual imagery and language. If you don't like this kind of thing, don't read it. Feedback is welcome. Zebulon@fastmail.ca All Zebulon's work is posted here: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Zebulon/www/ This story may be reposted anywhere as long as (1) proper credit is given, (2) I am informed of where it is being posted, and (3) I am allowed free access to the web site where it is being posted. (MF, FF, Bond) - - - - - Part 2 - Tall, Blond and Bound by Zebulon * * * * * Sheryl Hall and Marcella Saucedo met on a Caribbean cruise. Sheryl was a tall blond receptionist for a major insurance company. She had won this cruise as part of an incentive program for the top sales and management personnel. Some genius in marketing decided to include one prize for the friendliest, most popular receptionist. Sheryl wasn't even aware of the contest until after she had won. Sheryl was 19 and had taken this job right out of high school. She had planned to save money for a few years and then think about college. She was quite tall, six foot three in her bare feet. Her breasts were modest but well proportioned for her height and set off the rest of her figure very nicely. She had long blond hair and very fair skin with a light spattering of freckles. Her eyes were a brilliant green and she flashed a gorgeous set of pearly white teeth when she smiled. She smiled often. Sheryl also had a set of endearing dimples and a personality that matched her looks perfectly. She was bright, cheerful, open, friendly. She was like a young eager puppy seeing the world for the first time. It was small wonder she had been selected as the most friendly and popular receptionist. She made male hearts flutter and pricks stiffen when she passed. And it was men who picked the contest winners. The men in the office generally thought Sheryl had tremendous sex appeal. They didn't know she was a virgin. She'd kissed a few boys in high school and dreamed of her ideal lover all her young life, but that was just about it. And now, she was on a cruise. It was like a wonderful dream come true. An extra two weeks paid vacation. A full week sailing the Caribbean to arrive at a fabulous resort. Another week lounging in the sun before flying home. The only problem was that it seemed to Sheryl that she was just about the only single person under 90 years old on the ship. Most of the berths were filled with old married couples. There were a half dozen young honeymooners aboard, but they tended to keep to themselves. Then there were the contest winners from her own company and their wives. The dozen or so single salesmen from her firm had all decided to skip the cruise and fly directly to the resort. They did so with top management's blessing--it was cheaper. They had tried to talk her into doing the same, but Sheryl had never been on a cruise ship before and wanted to go. Now, at the end of a long dull afternoon wandering the huge ship alone, she wasn't so sure. She made her way to the main dinning room for her first meal. The dinning room was magnificent. Oak wood paneling, brass fixtures, crystal chandeliers. The tables were all covered with rich green tablecloths. The china and the silverware shone with a high gloss. She reported to the head steward and was given her table assignment. She made her way across the big room and found her seat. It was a small table set for two. She was still admiring the flatware when she felt a light hand on her shoulder and heard a bright cheerful voice say, "Hi! I'm Marcie. How the hell are ya?" She looked up into a widely grinning face of a young woman with deep olive skin, dark eyes, and jet-black hair. Sheryl started to rise. The hand pressed her shoulder down a bit. "Nope," the young woman said, "don't get up. I'm your table partner for the voyage." So saying, she took her own seat across from the pleasantly surprised young blond. Their waiter appeared and dinner was served. As they ate, they talked. Sheryl's tablemate turned out to be Marcella Saucedo, a 23-year-old travel agent from Dallas. This was an early season cruise which hadn't been fully booked and, as sometimes happened, the extra berths were offered as bonuses to certain travel agencies which were especially good about steering customers their way. Marcie's agency had been given a couple of tickets. So here she was. The first thing Marcie had done, when she booked herself on the cruise was to check out the ship's manifest. She immediately identified Sheryl as about the only other single person in her age group. So she'd done some arranging and made sure they would have the same table assignment. In fact, they had adjoining cabins as well. Sheryl was delighted. Marcie was much shorter than Sheryl. She was 5'5" and had a slim, almost boyish figure. Her family came originally from southern Italy and she had a very European look about her. She wasn't as knockdown gorgeous as Sheryl, but was quite attractive in her own way. She kept her hair cut short and combed back out of her face. Over the next few days, Sheryl and Marcie became very good friends. Given the nature of the cruise there were almost inseparable. In the morning they would meet outside their cabins and go to breakfast. They would explore some new attractions of the ship. About mid-morning, the ship would dock at some new port and the two of them would scurry off and go exploring and shopping together. Charlotte Amalie, Saint John's, Pointe-à-Pitre, Fort-de- France. It was like a dream, and so much more fun than Sheryl had ever imagined. They would return to the ship in good time for the evening departure. Then they would retire to their cabins, shower, change for dinner, and meet in the large dinning room. After dinner they would take long walks around and around the upper decks, talking, sharing their thoughts and dreams, and generally just enjoying each other's company. By the third day, they were walking arm- in-arm as was common among many of the Europeans on the cruise. It seemed quite natural. On the fifth day out, after spending the day in Martinique, Marcie invited Sheryl back to her cabin to share a bottle of something she had bought on the island. They each had a double cabin all to themselves. Sheryl had one because her company had booked a whole set of double cabins for the incentive program and she was the odd woman out. Marcie had one because the cruise line had provided two tickets to her agency and she was the only one who was interested and able to make the trip. So there was no one waiting up for either of them and no one likely to disturb their peace. They ended up talking far into the night, lounging on a tiny bed, and sipping on their drinks until the bottle was finally empty. Neither girl was drunk, but both were feeling just fine. Marcie was sitting on one end of her bed with her back pressed against the wall. Sheryl was lying across the same bed with her head in Marcie's lap. She was looking up at the ceiling of the little room, her legs dangling over the side. They had been talking about nothing in particular in low, quiet voices. Marcie was idly toying with Sheryl's long blond locks. And then there came a lull in the conversation. Marcie found herself smoothing the hair out from Sheryl's face. Their eyes locked and for a long while. Nothing happened, just the tender little movements of Marcie's long slim fingers lingering over the skin of Sheryl's forehead. And then, not really thinking about what she was doing, Sheryl slowly closed her eyes and quietly sighed. Marcie was much more experienced than Sheryl, but all of her experience had been with men. Yet she found herself deeply attracted to this tall sensitive girl. Marcie found her fingers gently moving down and around Sheryl's face, stroking her cheeks, nose, chin. Her free hand was resting between Sheryl's arm and side. She became acutely aware of the feel of little golden arm hairs against the skin of her hand. She could feel the rise and fall of Sheryl's breathing. Almost without thinking Marcie began stroking the side of the other girl's neck. Sheryl, eyes still closed, quietly turned her head in toward Marcie's body to expose more of her neck to the gentle ministrations. She sighed again. Marcie continued her rubbing and gentle scratching and thought about the situation. She had never been involved with another woman, but had to admit that the idea had occurred to her on occasion. She found she wasn't repulsed. In fact, there was a certain fascination at the prospect. She suddenly realized that she was getting wet. Meanwhile, Sheryl wasn't thinking much at all. She was enjoying the feel of Marcie's hand with an almost animal lack of contemplation. She liked the other girl; she trusted her. She was living in the moment. She felt the hand next to her side move up and the two hands come together to undo the top button of her blouse. The fingers worked their gentle magic on the skin of her upper chest, the exposed side of her neck, and her chin. Sheryl sighed again and, without opening her eyes, turned her face back toward the ceiling. The hands undid another button and pulled the fabric of her blouse open to expose more of her upper chest. It felt delicious. One hand had wormed its way under the fabric of the shirt and was gently rubbing her shoulder. Sheryl let her arm fall back to reduce the tension on the fabric. Marcie's other hand was again stroking her chin. She felt a finger glide across her closed lips. She let her mouth relax and slacken and her lips fall slightly open. The finger returned to slide sensuously across the lower lip and return across the upper one. Sheryl lightly licked her lips after it passed. The hands came together to undo a third button, just below the level of the breasts. The blouse was pulled open even farther. The hands slid in to rub both shoulders at the same time. They dipped down to rub some of the flesh under the arms as well. The fair skin of Sheryl's face and upper chest was beginning to flush and darken. She sighed once more. Then Marcie leaned a bit forward and gently kissed Sheryl's forehead. The feel of the other girl's lips produced an almost electric effect on Sheryl. She was suddenly aware of what was happening. She froze. A part of her wanted to jump up, pull her blouse closed, and run out. But another part was afraid that would offend her new friend. And besides, she realized how much she was enjoying the feel of the massage. Marcie had felt Sheryl suddenly stiffen. She sat back up and continued the gentle rubbing, waiting see what would happen. Sheryl was terribly confused. She liked Marcie, but she wasn't a lesbian. At least, she didn't think she was a lesbian. She didn't even know any lesbians. At least, she didn't think she knew any. And Marcie had talked about some of the different men she had been with, so Marcie couldn't be a lesbian either. Could she? And what if she was? Sheryl sat up, almost without being aware she had just done so, and rebuttoned her blouse. She didn't look her friend in the eye. Instead, she focused on the floor of the cabin and quietly said, "Well, it's really getting late and I think I'd better get to bed." Marcie, with obvious disappointment in her voice said, "Yeah, I suppose so." Sheryl stood up and moved toward the door. As she gripped the handle she heard Marcie say, "I'll see you in the morning." "Sure," Sheryl replied almost automatically as she left. But Marcie was anything but sure. And a few hours later, when it was time to start the new day, she knocked several times on the adjoining cabin door only to receive no reply. Was Sheryl already up and gone? Was she still asleep? Was she hiding in the cabin and just not answering? Marcie didn't know. With a shrug she left. She breakfasted alone and didn't see her friend all morning. Then the ship docked in Bridgetown and there was still no sign of Sheryl. 'Oh well,' she thought. She made ready to go. And when the gangplank went down she walked onto the island alone. * * * * * Andrea awoke to another day of training. Her initial terror had subsided into a constant low-grade state of anxiety punctuated with a great deal of confusion and occasional periods of panic. She awoke on this particular morning as she had for the past several weeks in a state of strict bondage. There was a large wooden structure that resembled a huge picture frame laid out on the basement floor and Andrea was the picture. The base and top of the frame were doubled, hinged lengths of wood set up like an old fashioned pillory. Andrea was lying face down. Her feet were spread far apart and locked into the wooden base, her hands were similarly locked at the top with her head right in the middle. Master Vincent, as she'd learned to call him, had laid a rough blanket on the hard floor under the contraption. But otherwise, she'd spent yet another impossibly uncomfortable night in captivity. After the initial shock of her abduction, Andrea had thought of nothing but escape. For the first three days, her captor had bound her in a whole series of different ways, sexually assaulted her at every opportunity, and almost seemed to be begging her to rebel. On the fourth day she did. At first she simply went limp and refused to follow any of his instructions. Then, after he'd whipped her a few times, she started screaming into her gag and thrashing about. 'So you want to scream?' he'd said. And so saying he'd strapped her spread eagle to a large table. She had been held only at her wrists and ankles. Then he'd removed her gag. At first she was silent, afraid of what would happen if she made a noise. But he whipped her again across the belly and she'd begun to scream and howl in earnest. The Eagle just left to get another root beer and let her screech. When he returned he sat back on his comfortable chair to drink and listen to her futile protestations. She had screamed until she was hoarse, but no one heard. No one came. When she finally fell silent, he'd risen and hovered over her. 'The gag,' he had said, 'is to teach you discipline and obedience, not to keep you quiet. Scream all you like, no one will hear.' What followed was the absolutely worst two days of her life. Constant pain and little tortures. Nothing that would do any permanent damage or leave permanent marks. He was always very careful about that. Nothing which was agonizing beyond endurance so that she would enjoy the respite of passing out. But for almost 45 hours he had subjected her to a constant series of painful and distressful procedures. He stuck pins into various parts of her body. He held ice against her nipples or crotch. He would put various clamps on her breasts and other tender areas and twist them from time to time. Every waking moment for almost two days. She lived in pain, fell asleep in pain, woke to pain. By the end of the first hour she was blubbering and pleading for his forgiveness. By the end of the second day she was completely broken, psychologically, physically, spiritually. She remembered the moment when it finally stopped. She was still strapped to the big table. He'd turned her a couple of times during the two-day ordeal, but otherwise she hadn't moved. He had approached her with some new and wicked looking contraption. She had watched with dull, listless eyes. And then he'd suddenly paused and looked down at her, almost with compassion. 'Are you through screaming?' he had asked. She hadn't made more than a whimpering noise in hours. She looked up at him with the first glimmer of hope she'd felt in seemingly forever. She tried to speak but her voice was gone. Instead she weakly nodded her head. 'Would you like to get back into my good graces?' he'd asked. She swallowed dryly and nodded again. And he'd put away the device and let her up. Just like that. He'd attached a collar around her neck and chained her to the iron bar in the wall. For the first time in six days she was relatively unfettered. Then he'd left and returned with salves, ointments, and food. He let her eat while tending to her various minor wounds. After she'd finished eating he was still working on her. She'd tried to ask him a question. He'd just slapped her hard across the face. 'Shhhhh!' he'd hissed, 'speak only when spoken to.' She would remember that. Afterwards he let her sleep for a long time curled up on a big blanket in the corner of the room. When she woke, stiff and sore, her training had begun in earnest. Everyday was roughly the same. Breakfast and toilet first thing in the morning. An increasingly strenuous set of exercises, designed to tone and sculpt her body and build endurance, followed by a luxurious massage. On the first day of this new regimen she couldn't believe how wonderful that massage made her feel. Then lunch and the toilet again. Her toilet consisted of a bucket. After the lunch break he would leave to feed himself and she would clean her little world, pouring the contents of the bucket into a utility sink and cleaning everything carefully. Then he would return and she would have a cold shower. The shower consisted of his holding a garden hose as she stood in the corner of the basement over a drain. The collar and chain around her neck never came off. After she had dried herself, he would bind her in some new way and there would be a series of lessons. Some of the lessons had to do with the proper behavior of a slave. Some had to do with sexual technique. By mid afternoon the lessons would be over and there would be a break. He would leave her bound and go out to do God only knew what. Then he would return in the late evening and they would engage in sex, practicing what she had learned during the day. Every night after dinner, her toilet, and a final clean up of her world, she would be rebound in some strict fashion and left until the morning. The life was tolerable. There were painful punishments for failure to learn, failure to get it right, failure to obey quickly enough. But it was at least tolerable. And there were occasionally strange and sometimes wonderful rewards for achievement. One day he had told her that she was learning very well. Then he'd gone upstairs and returned with a single red rose in a crystal vase. He'd placed it on the floor in front of her, patted her on the head, and left for the afternoon. She'd sat in her bondage--arms tied together high on her back, legs tied together in a in lotus position, collar tied by a short strap to where her ankles crossed--she sat and looked at that rose for hours. And she wept without knowing exactly why. On another occasion he brought her a special meal. Most days he fed her simple, unappetizing foods out of a little dish on the floor. She'd eat whatever he provided, then he'd pour water into the dish and she'd drink that. But this time, after they'd practiced the sexual techniques, he'd seemed extremely pleased. She remembered it was the first day she'd actually been able to take a little pleasure in what she was doing. And that evening he'd opened up a little card table, set out a chair, and brought her down a delicious steak and lobster dinner, complete with wine. He'd sat across from her and joined her in the wine as she ate. And now she'd been here for so long that she found herself actually trying to please her Master Vincent on occasion. She no longer wept except when being punished. And the punishments were coming less frequently. On the day that Sheryl and Marcie first met, Andrea awoke expecting just another day of her new routine. But on this particular morning, as she waited for her Master to release her from her nightly bondage, she'd found herself feeling very ambivalent. She was thinking more about pleasing her Master than of what he might do to her if she didn't. She had been punished severely the day before for some careless error. But where she once would have been fixated on the punishment, today she found herself concentrating on how to avoid the error. That evening, when it was time to practice what she had learned, she found herself working hard to get it right and see that her Master was both sexually satisfied and well pleased. Her wrists were linked together at the base of her spine. Her ankles were crossed and tied. They were practicing a new set of fellatio techniques. She had to completely control his level of arousal using just her mouth. Master Vincent was sitting in his comfortable chair wearing nothing but the scrub shirt he wore that first terrible evening of her arrival. He was holding a short riding crop in one hand and a bottle of root beer in the other. Andrea was on her knees between her Master's legs. His prick was slightly elongated but not hard. She leaned forward and, taking the tip of her tongue, touched it to the head of his penis and ran it slowly up to the base. Leaning back she checked the effect. She suddenly felt a sharp lash of the crop across one shoulder. "Never stop to admire your technique," he said. "You need to learn to feel how you are doing with your mouth." "Yes, Master." Andrea leaned back into her work. She nibbled on the sides of his shaft. She sucked carefully on the head. She performed a variety of twisting motions using her lips and tongue. After half an hour she had brought him to the edge of an orgasm five times and carefully backed him off without tripping even the beginnings of a climax. When she'd completed the exercise she looked up into his eyes. "Not bad," he said. And she knew he meant it. He had only swatted her with the crop four times. She was obviously getting much better. "O.K.," he said, "finish it." She was actually pleased with herself as she leaned forward to bring him off. Taking his now stiff member in her mouth she sucked carefully back and forward performing the simplest and most basic of blowjobs. He was more than ready and within less than a minute had exploded into her mouth. She gulped it down being careful not to spill any and to continue her lip and tongue movements to insure his maximum pleasure. And then, as the climax subsided, she transitioned to a series of oral actions designed to bring him back gently to earth. It was something like bringing a plane in for a very smooth landing. She had actually learned it as one of her first lessons and it was now one of her best tricks. When the job was completely over, he finished the root beer and tossed the can into the container in the corner. Then he looked at her with approval and perhaps even a hint of tenderness and said, "You know, I think you may be ready to move upstairs soon." She looked into his face without comprehension, then buried her face in his lap and started to cry. She didn't know whether she was crying with relief or happiness or what. It felt exactly like some great pressure in her life was on the verge of being released. Actually, her crying was a minor breach of discipline, but the Eagle decided not to punish her. After all these weeks of captivity and punishment, there was one thing of which Andrea was very sure. She was sure that she deserved all this, that she had done something very bad, that she was an unworthy human being. She was also sure that this was some kind of penance and that her Master was going to cleanse her and make her good again. * * * * * - - - - - -End of Part 2 - Tall, Blond and Bound - Zebulon - This story may be reposted anywhere as long as (1) proper credit is given, (2) I am informed of where it is being posted, and (3) I am allowed free access to the web site where it is being posted. _________________________________________________________________ http://fastmail.ca/ - Fast Secure Web Email for Canadians ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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