TALL, BLOND AND BOUND
by Zebulon
This is a work of fiction. 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.
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.
Feedback is welcome. Zebulon@fastmail.ca
(MF, FF, Bond)
* * * * * Start of Part 2 * * * * *
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-…-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
by 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.