EXTRACT FOR
Having It All
(Jurgen von Stuka)
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Bondage Brokers Preface
The pretty
young thing, a true masochist, is writhing and crying while tied to the post, screaming:
"Beat me. Whip me. Punish me." The sadist
unwinds his horse whip and gets ready to whip her tight, lovely ass. "You want
to be whipped?" he asks. "Oh yes,
please. Do it now. Please." "You want
to be punished? To be truly tormented. To suffer?" "Oh yes.
God, yes. Please beat me," she cries. "No." Who is
really in control? Who is the top in this scenario: The one on the post or the
one who knows that the real mental torment will come when he walks away,
leaving her taunt young body untouched? The thin
line between legal and illegal BDSM is often a matter of adult consent and the
unfortunate stereotype for bondage literature usually involves victims who do
not consent to being tied, gagged, chained and otherwise forced to submit to
restraint and punishment. The tops and doms are almost always nasty and
disinterested in the subject's needs or desires. The subs and bottoms are at
least initially unwilling, endlessly tormented and usually have a hopeless
future. There are,
of course, always exceptions to these premises. This particular tale takes you
to a different place: one where the fundamental premise is that everyone, subs
and doms, has an erotic good time. They may not like the music, but they all
want to dance. Stereotypical
dominant and submissive roles are blurred by modern reality. If the dominant
person does what the sub wants, is he or she still dominant? If the sub gets
what he or she wants, are they still submissive? Places
like the mountain camp that Frank and Ellen own are well within the possible.
But for the owner and customer alike, caveat emptor strictly applies. Once you
buy in, you may not be able to buy your way out. Chapter One
Patty Goes To Camp
Patty
cried. She cried
for her lousy life, for her lost boyfriend and for help, but no one heard her.
The heavy metal cuffs around her wrists chafed her fair skin and the gag and
blindfold weren't helping dispel the feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, she
had made a bad decision to join her friends for the weekend here at this end of
the earth camp in the middle of nowhere. How did I
get into this? she thought. How did I get here? Up until
now her life had been relatively private. Now her most secret secrets were
being exploited in depth. She
remembered leaving the office with Ellen. And she remembered the reason why she
had finally agreed to go with them. But now none of this made any sense. She
was tired, confused and her wrists hurt. Her ankles hurt. Her head hurt. Her wrists
hurt because they were chained to a hoist on the distant ceiling and her feet
were chained to the floor and she wasn't going anywhere without some help. Her
hands were high over her head, joined by heavy steel cuffs attached to chains
fastened to the electric hoist mounted on the wide wooden beam in the ceiling
of the underground room. Her ankles were spread wide with a heavy metal bar
that had the same metal cuffs at each end. The bar was chained to a ring
mounted in the cement floor. She had been standing there for hours, her mouth
plugged with a wad of cloth held in place with duct tape. Her eyes were covered
with cloth and tape. She was naked. Her clothes were long gone and she had no
idea where they were now. The room was warm and humid. Patty was
depressed because her boyfriend of the last few months, Steven, had dumped her
without ceremony, simply saying that he was bored with the relationship and
announcing at the same moment that he was taking a cruise with the family. And
that was the end of it. Sitting at
her desk in the big office on 45th Street in the heart of New York City, Patty
had wondered what she was going to do with the four day weekend/holiday. And
then, out of nowhere, her friend, Ellen, stopped by the cubicle and offered a
suggestion. "Frank and
I are going up to The Camp in the mountains for a few days," she said. "And we
want you to come with us." "Nah,"
Patty said without even thinking about it. "You two don't need a third wheel." "Well, my
dear," responded Ellen with a bit of sarcasm in her voice, "the fact is that we
do need you. You can entertain us and help with the driving. You'll get some
exercise out in the fresh mountain air. You'll meet some new people who don't
live in the big city and you might even learn something. I guarantee that
you'll stay for the weekend once you get up there." That guarantee was more of
a clue than Patty could have imagined at the time. Now she understood. "I don't
have anything with me but gym clothes and these," Patty said, pointing to her "casual
Friday" jeans and sweater outfit that looked like it was three sizes too big
for her. Her neatly manicured fingers just barely stuck out from the too long
cuffs of the sweater. Some moron in the store had convinced her that too long
sleeves were "fashionable." In hind sight, she thought they were a neat way to
wear out a sweater much faster. Besides, the long sleeves did hide the rope
marks on her wrists. "Hey,
Patty, wake up, Kiddo," Ellen shouted and thumped on the metal wall of the
cubicle. Patty realized that for a moment, she had lapsed off into a day dream.
She had been thinking about the thin red bands on her wrists, self-inflicted
with the thin nylon parachute cord that she used to tie herself in bed the
night before. That had been an adventure, she thought. If it hadn't been for a
weak joint on the bed frame, she might still be there, self-bound and gagged in
bed until God knows when. "Hey,"
said Ellen again "You are going to come with us, so get your shit together and
let's get out of here." Ellen was
always the dominant figure in the relationship and this questionable personal
quality intimidated Patty and others in the office. She did this by using her
stunningly good looks, sharp mouth and precocious nature. She was also,
according to the office grapevine, actively involved with things that the work
crew sometimes referred to as "kinky stuff." Most of her fellow workers did not
know or care. It was just office gossip. Patty knew about this, but played
ignorant, not wanting to show any interest. "Ellen,"
Patty whined. "I really am not up for camping for three or four days." She knew
very well from photos she had seen, that the camp in the Adirondacks was not
some creaky, leaky old log cabin rotting in the forest. The camp, as it was
called, had about as much resemblance to a rustic retreat as the millionaires "cottages"
that lined the Newport, Rhode Island beaches or the "little apartment I keep in
the City" that many suburbanites used in reference to their East Side
penthouses in Manhattan. In other words, Patty and most of the office knew that
Frank and Ellen had inherited from his parents the vast property, deep in the
mountains and surrounded by National Forest. They used their sizable wealth to
expand and develop the house into a luxury alternate residence. Going there was
not roughing it by a long shot. But Patty
still resisted. "Besides,"
she whined. "On Tuesday, I am going to my high school reunion in Buffalo, so I
really need to pack and get ready for that." "You'll
have plenty of time for reunion packing, Patty. We'll bring you home early on Monday.
Or, we can take you to the train. Now get your stuff and let's hightail it out
of here, Frank is waiting." "Oh,
alright. What do I need?" Patty caved in and picked up her gym bag and purse. "Maybe
a weekend in the mountains will do me good." At the last second, she opened the
bottom drawer of her desk and took out a small plastic zipper make-up bag that
held the basics she occasionally needed for a quick overnight. "It will
do more than that," Ellen said under her breath as she followed Patty out the
door and into the parking lot, noting, (as she always did), the slim, well
proportioned figure of her friend under the disorganized pile of what looked
like consignment store clothing. By 2
o'clock they were loaded into Frank's pride and joy, a classy new, imported SUV
and on their way. Two hours into the trip, as they climbed higher into the
Adirondacks, it began to snow and this slowed them down. Even though Ellen and
Frank alternated driving every hour, the roads became more and more dangerous
as snow and ice built up and they were afraid they might not even make the camp
that night. "I knew
this would happen," Ellen said, as she again slowed the vehicle and stayed in
the right lane while other fools sped by them, intent on ending up in a snow
bank or ravine when they inevitably lost control of their car. By 7 PM they had
reached a turnoff from the main highway, but missed it because the snow had
obscured the unmarked, small dirt road. They turned around and drove back.
Then, putting the truck into four wheel drive, Ellen eased the vehicle over the
plowed snow on the edge of the highway and started up the When she
woke up, she was hanging in the chains, gagged and blindfolded. Her wrists were
killing her and she had to think that this was because she'd been hanging there
with all of her weight suspended by her wrists. The cuffs on each wrist were
thick and very heavy. Even though she couldn't see them, she knew that they
weren't handcuffs. They were something more sophisticated than the handcuffs
she occasionally used herself. The same was true for the cuffs that held her
thin ankles to the spreader bar. They were heavy and thick, attached as though
they were permanent. |