Justine

ONE

Justine paused at the door of the shingled Berkeley house--built in the twenties, probably; mature pine trees, slightly unkempt landscaping like all the others on this residential block--ordinary, charmingly seedy. So why was she standing here, sweating slightly, so reluctant to ring the doorbell? Twenty nine, an associate professor in the psychology department at UC Berkeley, perceived as gorgeous ("it's true! It's true!'

she told herself before her mirror on a daily basis), smart, and usually unflappable; why was her throat so dry, her pulse so fast now? And why had she dressed so provocatively?

"That goddamned class ," she thought : "They talked me into this. And I really can't back out, So--here goes!" She rang the bell at the unmarked door, which was opened by a middle aged woman: full figured, with a pleasant round face, blonde braids and kindly blue eyes--but wearing a tight, blatantly sexy leather cat suit--like an overweight Emma Peel, Justine wildly thought, as she stammered:

"I --uh---- I have an appointment with Mr. Schrechlich--I'm Professor Jousse."

The woman looked at her with a slightly sardonic smile. "Professor Jousse. OK. And he is--Herr Doktor Schrechlich. Have a seat, it won't be long." She gestured to a chair in the small foyer, and returned to her desk.

Justine sat and nervously crossed and recrossed her long legs. 'This skirt is too short,' she thought. 'How did I get myself into this?'

****************

She reviewed last Tuesday's class. She had been assigned to run a seminar for grad students on "Sexual Aberrations: Morality's last stand?" by her slightly repellent department head, Sidney Peltz. She was pretty sure that the assignment was in retaliation for her amused--amused, yes that would have been the worst insult--rejection of his sexual advances. Sure enough, the class, with only six students, was challenging her from the first session.

"Lets get this straight, teach!" Zach, a would be rap artist, had claimed at the first class:"Morality is no longer a valid concept! Anything goes! And I'm delighted to discuss it with a gorgeous luscious honey like yourself--as long as I get my credits!, Capiche?" The other students apparantly subcribed to the same academic psychology; they voiced approval. Justine took her best shot.

"Zach--or whoever you are--I'll learn your names, I promise. Now, we intend to do a serious survey of our currently chaotic sexual scene. I said serious. This is not a course in sniggering and tittering. And if I am a target for your puerile fantasies, please keep it to yourself. Any questions?" Zach seemed abashed, his challenge crushed. 'That went pretty well', Justine congratulated herself.

"UH-Ms. Jousse. Will there be any lab work? I mean, any actual--uh real life experiential stuff?" Amy, an earnest Oriental girl with an innocent face, glasses and a lustrous curtain of long black hair (but wearing low cut jeans, a navel ring and a tight t shirt over her perky breasts) had asked.

"Amy--are you Amy? Field studies may be possible; we'll see how the class evolves. For now, I have a reading list for you...."

That was three weeks ago. To Justine's surprise, the class had gone pretty well; Zach somewhat subdued, Amy and Martin and the others involved; Jamahl the lone black student a bit distant; she had not yet figured him out. They had examined traditional sexual issues, and were now discussing the fringe issues; perversions, on this occasion, bondage and discipline.

Vicki, serious, with her no nonsense hairdo and granny glasses, but full figured under the thrift shop sweaters and droopy skirts she chose to wear, said: "We've seen some of these assigned videos, but-I don't get it! What's all this rope and handcuff stuff about? I don't understand why---"

Amy jumped in. "That's because you have to try this stuff! Really do it--" she blushed. "Uh, I think so, anyway."

Zach was right there. "Yes! Of course! We have to experience this

bondage stuff--come back, share our trips, maybe write a report: Campus Perverts in Bondage! That would be rad!"

The class laughed, Justine smiled as well.

"No, I mean it!" Zach was intense now. "Let's all go out this weekend, do our own bondage thing--Amy, I'd love to tie you up, you sexy thing" Amy, smiling, gave him the finger.--"OK, Ok, each of us do a report--how about it?"

Martin, thoughtful, quiet, chimed in: "That's really a good idea! Real world stuff is good, like a scientific experiment. We're mainly sitting here and talking about stuff. Let's really check something out!"

There was a murmur of approval. the class turned to Justine. She said: "Well, if you all want to--this will be voluntary, of course, I see no reason why we can't..."

"You said 'we', Ms Jousse! Are you going to do a little bondage trip too?" said Amy, The class chimed in: "All right! Do it, Ms J!"

Trapped! Justine smiled nervously. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. I wouldn't know how to begin to contact any of these--people, I...."

Zach interrupted. "If that's your only problem. I've got one contact right here in Berkeley. Come on, Ms Jousse! The professor in bondage! Ms. Jousse, all tied up! Hot stuff!" His wide smile was infectious; the class chimed in, even Vicki. "Do it! It will be awesome!"

Justine reflected for a second; they seemed sincere, energized. This didn't feel like some sort of a student engineered set up. Besides, watching those tapes, the ones she'd screened before the class, those helpless bound and chained victims, she had felt a funny little stirring she couldn't quite identify; she found herself holding her breath as the ropes were knotted tighter and tighter. Those delicious helpless women!

So she said. "OK. Here's the assignment. Each of you--each of us--

experience a bondage session before next week. Use your discretion; it

doesn't have to be heavy. Individual research is best, but do it with a classmate, if you want to--or a partner. No rules, no restrictions. We'll share our results on Monday, And--and, this may be a big mistake, but I'll do it too----and tell you all about it. That's a promise"

*************

And now she found herself sitting nervously across from Ms. Leather Lady, more uneasy by the minute. She crossed her legs; her little black dress was way too short, she realized. 'I'm probably sending the wrong message'. Behind the closed double doors to the--living room? she heard an irregular series of dull blows, with a --she couldn't dismiss the adjective--meaty sound. And some muffled moans? sobs? --something of the sort. Distracted, she picked up a magazine on the coffee table before her: Bondage Delights. She opened the magazine at random; a lurid photo of a chubby brunette, splayed across some sort of wooden frame, nude, exposed, with tight ropes restraining her everywhere, leapt out at her..

Justine gulped, quickly closed the magazine, but moments later peeked again. On this page a redheaded victim was bent over some sort of sawhorse, in the foreground a silhouetted man brandished a whip; her naked bottom was already bright red and welted.

Justine gulped again, swallowed, and got to her feet. She was already rehearsing what she would tell the leather lady: "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to cancel this appointment, Something's come up.....'"

The double doors opened. A stylish blonde in her mid thirties burst out. She wore an expensive linen suit and silk blouse, but was somehow---disheveled looking, Justine thought. Her mouth was slack, half smiling; she seemed to stare right past Justine as she rushed out the door to the street. Justine turned to cancel her appointment.

Standing in the doorway was a man: medium height, slim, trimmed beard, with an emphatic face: craggy brow, cheekbones, nose, and chin--

but not unhandsome. His hair, close cropped, was graying, his eyes were brown, his gaze intense. He wore a soft black shirt--velvet, maybe, and

chino pants and loafers. No big deal, Justine told herself, and yet--

there was something compelling in his stance, his gaze, his barely amused smile. The leather clad blonde whispered in his ear, handed him a file card. He read it and raised his gaze to Justine, his grin a little wider now.

"Ms.--no, Professor--Jousse. An academic! An honor! Come in! Come on!" He bowed slightly, subtle irony investing his inviting gesture. She stood. A bit coquettishy, perhaps. This dress was so short!

*

'Shit! can't back out now!' 'Why not? You heard those moans.' 'No, it wouldn't be--I don't know--polite. Not what I promised the class.' Her inner voices battled as she found herself led into a modest office: three comfortable chairs, a coffee table, lamps, a nice Persian rug; on the far wall another set of imposing oak double doors; he eased her into a chair, almost without volition on her part.

"Professor, is it? I'm Hugo Schrechlich. Your first session, yes? What sort of--exploration do you have in mind?" He leaned forward, attentive; he did not shake her hand.

Justine, nervous, tried to make her voice matter of fact, business-like. (she failed.) "Uh, Mr.--Dr,--whatever; I"m here to explore your views on--the bondage thing, its appeal, its..."

He interrupted. "You're asking for an interview? Is that right? I'm sorry, I don't do interviews. My work is--purely experiential."

"But--I'm doing a class on aberrant sexuality; I thought that my students could benefit from your views....."

He interrupted again: "Without insulting you, your approach is useless--what I do is not academic bullshit. I don't talk about a color chart when you can look over your shoulder and see a glorious sunset--or a dental x-ray when you can experience a root canal, if you will. So, I have wasted your time, you have wasted mine. There will be no charge. Good day, and good luck on your project."

He rose from his chair; Justine also got to her feet. " Mr--Doctor --

Hugo--I'm --really searching here--for my students. Perhaps I didn't"t say

it very well, but I do want some insight into what you do--maybe to, as you say, experience it."--'watch out for this guy!' her little inner voice told her, but she brushed it aside, with a tiny tingle of anticipation.

He stopped and stared into her eyes for a few seconds; they were almost the same height (she wore 3 inch heels), she noticed. She felt his penetrating eyes reading her, almost invading her. He spoke:

"Very well. By experiential, I mean 'hands on. The initial session is

about an hour, I charge a hundred bucks. You will learn more, I promise you, than a whole month scrounging in the library or on internet. But when we step through those doors, I am in charge! Do you agree?"

"I--i think so, But --can I stop at any time? I mean, I don't intend to, but...."

"There all sorts of safeguards; this is a voluntary expression, an exploration, after all. Please come in."

The larger room behind the second set of doors was not nearly as cozy; forbidding, actually. Windowless, one or two folding chairs, a floor length mirror on one wall, a wooden floor, what looked like gym equipment along one of the walls and racks of ropes and leather gadgets that Justine didn't recognize.

"So we begin." Hugo's voice was noticeably crisper, his demeanor more commanding. "You may want to take off that lovely little dress; It could get wrinkled." He pretended not to notice Justine's consternation as he proceeded :

"I won't do your interview, but, maybe, I'll talk a bit as you undress, give you a bit of theory.. Yes, that's good! Put your clothes on that chair. Fine! Now: Bondage and discipline, maybe sadism and masochism, boring cliches, but fundamental! Who's on top. who's on the bottom? Bondage is helplessness, helplessness is no more responsibility; no more responsibility is--freedom! A paradox! But that's enough talk; too much, actually. Incidentally, you are gorgeous, professor.""

Justine hesitated, but, summoning up her courage. shehad taken off her little black dress, and now sat--proudly, defiantly, she hoped--a scant three feet from Hugo. Now half naked, she regretted the wardrobe she had selected for this confrontation: a flimsy lace bra cradling her full breasts, a garter belt attached to dark silk stockings--what could she have been thinking of?--diaphanous panties, and those high heeled pumps. She has dressed, she suddenly flashed, just like the victims in those B and D movies she'd screened the night before!

*

"You're----very provocative! But of course you know that." He didn't

leer; he didn't smile. "But what you are wearing--what you have chosen to wear--tells me that you are--in your subconscious--a courtesan, a

slave, a whore, a sexual submissive---and totally unaware of it. Yes?"

Justine was indignant, or tried to be; his words had flustered her. she sputtered a bit as she answered:

"I--I'm none of the above; I'm independent, a professional woman,

no one's slave, thank you, and--and I happen to like nice underwear!"

She stood proudly, threw out her chest, and noted to her surprise , that her nipples were starting to erect, straining against the gauzy fabric of her brassiere. He slowly scanned her body, with a slight sardonic nod.

" Of course. Now we begin. Turn around, please." Hugo had a coil of soft cotton rope --clothesline-- in his hand. "Arms behind your back, please--that's right." He crossed her wrists, encircled them, made a tight knot, then roped her arms above the elbows; in seconds she was securely bound. He stood in front of her then, very close, his gaze intense. "Now stand for a minute. struggle against the ropes, if you wish. Tell yourself this: I am tied, I am a captive; everything has changed! Let it sink in!"

Justine heard him; her elbows were pulled back, her wrists tightly tied at the small of her back, her breasts thrust forward; there was no give in the simple bondage. 'I'm tied! captive! Just as he said!' And a whole rush of panicked emotions flooded her brain: 'Omigod what am I doing here? Half naked with this pervert! Helpless! He could rape me--he could--I must have been crazy!' Helpless!'

He was right: two yards of clothesline could change your attitude absolutely! She shifted nervously, testing the ropes . No slack at all. She

started to sweat.

He untied her. and stood, smiling slightly, until she shook her head, flustered, rubbed her wrists, and stood before him, perhaps a little less arrogant, a little less in control. She was shaken.That moment of bondage, brief as it was, had been--spooky! And something else...

"So, That was about a minute. Do you see that the experience is not the printed page--or the video tape?" He scanned Justine's face; her chin up, still defiant, but her eyes would not quite meet his, and her mouth trembled slightly as she nodded a silent 'yes'..

He continued: "You are free to go now. I think you have already learned something. I also think you will not go--because I have learned a

little something about you as well, my gorgeous Professor. You are a very proud woman. Will you slink out of my lair in your high priced prostitute's

lingerie, or will you stay to learn what I am about to teach you?"

Justine's head spun. She cringed, for a moment, rubbing her wrists, no longer sure of herself. Two. maybe more, messages competed: 'Get out of here! Now!" and: 'I really want to do this!'---- and anger, pride: 'Prostitute's underwear! how dare he! He's sexually attracted to me and can't admit it! Well, this old man's not going to intimidate me!'

Pride won. Her pride had got her in trouble before. But she threw back her head and said bravely: " I'm paying for the hour. I--look forward to the--experience," He responded with another slight, ironic nod.

"Take off you bra, please; there will be some ropes in that area." His voice was flat, matter of fact, as though he had not won some sort of psychological victory. Justine complied, casually, she hoped, draping the flimsy bra on the chair alongside her dress. She felt very, very naked, suddenly. She crouched, not sure what would happen next. very of his eyes fastened on her lush big nippled breasts.

*

"From now on, I am your master, and you will so address me, understood? And you will obey my every command--or risk severe punishment. If such punishment is----intolerable, you will have an escape word; you, after all, are a volunteer. A good word is 'zebra' or 'Eskimo'; 'please!' 'Please stop!' and 'No more!' and similar dramatic pleas are

often part of the game, your act; they don't count. Are you clear on that?"

"Yes." Justine replied. He was already behind her, tieing her wrists with thinner, more supple rope. He moved quickly, lashing her upper arms and elbows until they were nearly touching, running rope below and above her breasts, over her shoulders, behind her neck, securely cinched

to the elbow and wrist bonds. In just a few minutes, Justine's upper body was immobilized, painfully so. Almost playfully, he knotted three strands of rope through her jaws; a kind of gag, but more a symbol of humiliation, she thought. .

*

He stood back,gloating just a bit at his victim, He repeated:"I didn't hear your answer. Are you perfectly clear on the rules?"

Justine was gritting her teeth. These ropes were so tight! She wasn't experiencing any of the psychological bullshit that the books

described--just helplessness, and pain! She answered, mumbling against the ropes in her mouth. "Y-- yes, I think so--hey! this is really uncomfortable!"

"One more time," Hugo's voice was stern. but very soft; he leaned against her, almost whispering in her ear :"Yes , Master, is the correct form of address. Say it!"

Justine's stubbornness and pride kicked in; probably way too late; this man had demeaned her, mocked her--"professor"----and was now trying to break her spirit with this Master business! Tied up, whatever. she wasn't going to do it! She jutted her jaw and bit her lower lip or tried to; the hemp ropes between her teeth did not allow it; and glared at Hugo.

Hugo gently stroked her jaw. "My dear, insolence is not an appropriate response! Now, quickly! Yes, Master!"

Her knees shaking, as Hugo stood close, idly fondling one erect nipple, she clamped her jaw shut, refusing to speak the demeaning phrase, and mumbled: "You're not my master---- and never will be!"

"What delightful----and foolish-- insolence! One last chance, professor! 'Yes, Master!" Justine stared at him, proudly--and foolishly--mute.

"You are a special case." Hugo mused, tweaking one, then both nipples to full erection. She flinched, but refused to moan; her nipples had never been so hard before.

"Submissive and foolish, too! Misplaced defiance! I love it--very common in the secret masochist, the seeker of punishment and humiliation. And, yes, pain! Very well; you are silent, you will stay silent!"

From a rack in the back of the room he selected a rubber ball gag, showed it to Justine with a mocking smile, removing the rope gag before he inserted it--or tried to. She twisted her neck, gritted her teeth, resisted the gag, nearly the size of a tennis ball; Hugo closed her nostrils

with a thumb and forefinger; when she finally gasped for breath, he forced the big ball into her open mouth behind her teeth, and strapped it tightly behind her neck. Gasping, salivating, almost choking in the first few seconds, Justine, jaws distended by the severe gag, was now truly mute.

*

Hugo stood back, his smile wider now; satanic, gloating. Hands on hips, he surveyed his captive, tottering on her high heels, struggling futilely against her bonds, trying to speak, to scream, anything; the only

sound that escaped the mouth filling gag was a tiny pitiful bleat. Justine was just beginning to realize that her escape route, her magic word was no longer an option. She was now totally in the hands of this--sadist? sexual predator? ---- she had no idea.. She had been uneasy in the waiting room, defiant, confrontational a few minutes ago, and now--she was frankly scared--and strangely thrilled..

"I'm afraid I am guilty of a--procedural error. my delectable professor. I'm sure you would insist on proper procedures, no? Now you have no way to establish an escape word. Pity, because now you are completely in my power! Lucky you! Your very first bondage session is going to be much more--intense--than I had planned. Let's get those panties off!"

Hugo caressed her squirming hips,, slapped her butt smartly, and slowly slid the lacy garment down over her hips.her thighs, then her ankles. He straightened, felt the bit of lace, put it to his nose, inhaled it, languorously, and spoke again:

"Exquisite! and--moist! Can it be that you are getting aroused? Let's see." With one hand he cradled her waist ( Justine, now a bit teary, squirmed, but was no longer resisting as fiercely). With his other hand he caressed her trimmed pubic fur, fingered her open and touched her moist inner cuntlips, her hardening clit. He looked up with another big smile, his face close to hers now. "Well, well. Hot and wet! Professor, I think you have just found a new hobby--or perhaps, a new venue for academic research!"

Justine closed her eyes, fighting back her tears. Her body was betraying her! Her nipples were erect, her pussy wet and tingling. What was going on? Choking on the gag, her upper body immobile in the tight ropes, hands going numb, she was feeling more of a sexual rush than she usually felt during conventional sex.

Her mind was reeling, confused: she allowed Hugo to lead her to

the back of the dungeon, and bend her over a leather covered bench, waist high. He pushed her bound torso against the bench, flattening her breasts. With one broad strap, he secured her neck, pushing her gagged

face against the bench. She was standing, ass jutting, as he spread her legs and strapped both ankles to rings embedded at least three feet apart in the floor. Her rounded buttocks and the cleft between them, her puckered anus and her damp pouting cunt were totally exposed.

"Now, we continue your education, no? I applaud your arrogance, even as I begin to make it disappear! Bondage and discipline! This is the discipline part." He fondled, then swatted her upthrust rump. Lightly, then hard; one side then the other; fifteen or twenty hard slaps. Justine started, gasped (or tried to) at the first slap, her head momentarily clearing from her personal confusion. She tried to howl in protest, only muffled whimpers and saliva escaped the ball gag. 'Ow! Ow! She wriggled, unable to escape the heavy descending hand.. Ow! Ouch! That smarts! Why am I still wet?'

*

Her ass cheeks were rosy now, welted with Hugo's hand prints. He took a deep breath, and walked slowly around the bench, cradling Justine's chin. "Look at me, professor! that's right. Let me show you the other options for your tender, defenseless bottom!"

He showed her several paddles, a small whip, with multiple lashes, then a supple bamboo cane. He swished it menacingly in front of her face; she grimaced; her bottom was already throbbing and it looked like her beating was just beginning. "I think we'll use the cane" he said, "It leaves a few welts, some souveniers to show your class, if you wish."

` Justine tried to tense her buttocks; waited and waited; strapped to the bench, she couldn't see Hugo. Maliciously, he swished the cane, and waited. Then, a swift overhand stroke. Justine arched in pain; Only the gag prevented a world record scream. Swish! She cringed, awaiting the next slash. Swish!! Two, then three more measured strokes; Hugo had criss crossed her ass with an artistic but brutal pattern of welts; her skin was not broken, but the linear bruises would last for weeks.

*

Hugo put down the cane, unstrapped Justine from the bench, unstrapped her ankles and turned her around . Saliva drooled around the punishing gag. Her eyes were wild, slightly unfocused, tearing. Still, she tried to meet his insolent stare, to show some tattered remains of dignity and defiance. Her ass was throbbing.

He saluted her. "You are a bondage queen! I like your attitude. Now, for the rest of your time--" he looked at his watch--" twenty minutes. How time flies when you're having fun, as they say. For the rest

of your time, I think a little quiet --a chance to really reflect on your ignominy, your helplessness, and your strange delight in all this misery. So you can sort out your feelings, as you psychologists would say. Stand up straight!"

Justine gasped again; what new torment awaited? Her prior

sexual turn on had been largely dampened by the painful whipping. She soon found out what he had in mind.

Hugo encircled her waist with a coarser, harsh double loop of hemp; tugging tight , constricting her waist. Justine was trim, but soft rolls of flesh swelled under and above the cinch. He knotted it as she gasped, trying to catch her breath; he pulled it tight. He tugged the dangling end of the rough hemp between her legs, and pulled it roughly up and over her wrist ties and cinched the rope between her buttocks. The hemp slipped between her labia and abraded her butt crease as he tugged. Justine tottered, and tried to moan again; this was unbearable!

"Now, down on the floor! Yes, down! Kneel, now lie on your belly!" He pu lled on the tether as she reluctantly followed his orders as the coarse ropes nearly sawed her in half; she had no choice. "Now! bend your knees! back further! that's it!"

On her belly on the cold floor, the hemp savaging her private parts, she could only struggle briefly as he secured her ankles, slip knotted the rope, and tightened until she was truly hog tied, wrists and ankles almost meeting, her body a painful arch. Any attempt to ease the tension on her bent back legs only pulled the coarse rope deeper into her. The pain and hopelessness of her position; the utter humiliation flooded over her. She found it hard to pay attention to his final words.

*

Leaning over her, one hand lightly caressing her glowing rump, Hugo spoke almost gently: "I'll leave you now. I think you have lots and lots of data to process--that's what the professors call it, don't they? That, and get in touch with your feelings. Whatever. There's a mirror on that wall over there. If you wish you can squirm or roll, or however you can move, and observe yourself. And see how stunning you are in your abject helplesness. You were truly meant for bondage, my dear. In about twenty minutes, my aide will untie you. When we meet again--and I'm sure we will--we'll have much to discuss. I don't think you need this anymore." He unbuckled and removed the gag..

Justine flexed her cramped jaw, wiggled her tongue, spat, started to speak. Hugo held up a cautionary hand. "No words now. I insist." Justine was cowed enough at this point to obey, for a moment; but then sputters of outrage, almost incoherent, came bursting forth:

"YOU!----you!----oh , you bastard!, you phony, you- sadistic son of a bitch--how could you?-" He turned his back, serene, apparently not hearing her, left the room, and closed the door.

Alone, severely hog tied, Justine screamed, whined, wept, cursed out "Dr.. Schrechlich--fucking Hugo!!" then cursed out herself; her foolishness from the very first student challenge, her naivete--she could see how she had been led, artfully, every step of the way into her present predicament--her arrogance that had led to the gag, and worse, the sexual arousal that had so delighted him; she couldn't explain that.

In the meantime, there was this coarse rope in her cunt, her calves were cramping, her arms and hands had long since gone numb from the tight ropes, and her whipped butt really smarted. and--twenty minutes of torture to endure? She hoped the leather lady was punctual.

Twisting and straining, she managed to flop over onto her side; the rope that bisected her eased a little. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the mirror he had referred to. So: how did she look? Stunning, he had said. Vanity--and curiosity, she told herself, her anger and self contempt a little less, her tears now quieter, as she flopped and wiggled and scooted until she lay in front of the floor length mirror.

She saw: a beautiful brunette, her long hair now mussed and disheveled, staring with deep set dark eyes, tear stained mascara; bruised lips, smeared lipstick (from the gag) mouth trembling, woeful but also puzzled. She saw: the cords encircling her chest and elbows, compressing her waist; the hemp rope, hog tied and then dipping between and into her sex; the frivolous garter belt and black hose (now frayed with multiple runs.) She saw: her arms bound behind her, her breasts jutting between the ropes, nipples still engorged. Maybe I am a secret bondage queen, she thought. She shifted her weight; the hemp abraded her once again. The pain wasn't altogether unwelcome.

*

She looked at herself for a long time, trying, without much success, to sort out her emotions. 'Yes, this woman--its me! it's me!--I'm stunning.

Miserable, but, somehow, very sexy. Vulnerable, available'-- just a little twinge of sexual energy began to surface; she tried to censor it.

'Now I need to see my sore whipped ass', she told herself. Painfully, one scoot on the cold waxed floor at a time, she was able to see her backside by craning her neck. Here she saw: her ample bottom, still rosy from the spanking, criss crossed with livid welts from the bamboo cane. Her arms and wrist were immobilized in an intricate, almost beautiful web of rope: she recalled a Japanese bondage movie she had viewed last week. The big rope tight between her ass cheeks, over her wrists, and taut to her ankles, had not loosened during her arduous squirming trip to the mirror. And still--the vulnerable, proffered ass, the forlorn statement that the tight ropes made--again she tingled, more than a little bit aroused, and was angry at herself. Maybe--just maybe----Hugo had sensed something about her that she had been unaware of.

Later--it seemed an eternity to Justine--the cheerful plump---- well, OK, if you were into Rubens, voluptuous---- leather clad aide entered and briskly untied her, smiled, and said; "I'll see you at the desk after you dress."

Somehow, the bland response, in no way acknowledging her torment, made Justine even more angry, victimized. She glimpsed her image in the full length mirror, paused, drew herself up to her full height, absently rubbing her rope-chafed wrists. Slowly, she undid her garter belt, and rolled down and discarded her torn hose. Slipping her high heeled pumps back on, she turned and posed before the mirror; yes, her bottom was still rosy, overlaid with the welts from her caning--perversely, even more enticing, she thought.. She stood in an erotic haze for just a moment, then snapped back to reality, and her sense of anger.She pulled on her dress in a hurry, stuffed her discarded bra, garter belt, torn stockings and panties into her purse, and stormed out.

"That will be one hundred dollars. Credit cards are fine. Will you be making a return appointment now--or later?" The leather lady smiled sweetly.

Infuriating! Justine turned. "Bill me." she said as coldly as she

could, and stumbled out of the office, onto the porch, and into the pedestrian traffic of Berkeley's College Avenue, a few blocks away. Her

thoughts and emotions were chaotic, unorganized. "I've got to get home, take a long hot shower, and try to think-- gotta think--' she mused to herself.

She was unaware how her appearance, her whole persona, had changed since the unsettling session. She had entered Hugo's office, serene, in control, somewhat distant, every inch the professional. Now, though she didn't know it, she walked with a sensual sway to her hips, her hair tousled, her lips slightly parted. And under her diaphanous silk dress, no lingerie; nude. Bemused, she had no idea how much attention she was drawing as she walked to her studio apartment.

TWO

SHARING TIME

Monday morning; class time. Justine faced her six students, nervously, not quite focussed.

Her weekend had been harrowing. After her bondage session, she was too shaken up to make her usual restaurant rendezvous with three faculty friends. In her apartment, after a hot shower and two glasses of wine, she had sat numbly, trying to make sense of the degrading session----and her confused reaction to it; even as she reviewed the indignities, the discomfort, she felt a warm twitch in her pelvis, a subtle moisture in her vagina. How to sort out all these conflicting emotions?

After a troubled hour or so, she got another glass of wine and replayed one of the bondage VCRs she had researched before the class project.

There was a crude plot: a wild jungle girl, captured, tied up (of course!), then recaptured by an evil white hunter, stripped, whipped, along with two other women, ostensibly anthropologists, looking for the 'wild girl.' The three bondage victims were tied and retied, stripped, abused, subdued. The bondage was clumsy compared to what Hugo had inflicted on her----see, she was an expert already---- but strangely compelling. In her robe, in front of the TV, Justine found herself aroused again, fingering her erecting clit, now with her fingers sliding in, then thrusting inside her, moaning and climaxing. Something, she realized, post orgasm, that she had been seeking since her terrible----and thrilling-- afternoon. And maybe she had wanted Hugo to----no, don't go there!

That was Friday night. She filled Saturday with errands; shopping, a very thorough apartment cleaning, some professional journal reading, making an elaborate cassoulet recipe from her Julia Child cookbook. She did not check her e-mail or answer her phone. At some level she realized that she could not hide behind busy work for very long; her flirtation, no, fascination, no, obsession, was there, just behind her stubborn intellectual attempts at denial.

That night, emotionally drained, she went to bed early, and awoke, sweating, heart pounding, her hands clenched in her tangled sheets after a vivid dream, not quite a nightmare. The dream's details blurred as she gasped, hyperventilating, now totally awake. There had been chains, hand cuffs, she was a slave. Raped, then sold, then raped again, always tied or chained, powerless, and aroused. Her sheets were tangled; she must have been thrashing around. And her vagina was wet again, throbbing, her nipples swollen. She had had a wet dream, one of only three or four she had experienced in her nearly thirty years..

She got up, tottered to the bathroom, tried to face herself in the big mirror. splashed cold water on her face, met her bewildered eyes in the mirror and broke down sobbing..What was happening to her? Was she

some kind of a--her mind rejected the term-- 'pervert'----or just

overwhelmed, briefly, by an unexpectedly vivid disturbing experience?

'Yes,' she thought, 'that's probably it. Get hold of yourself, Justine. One more glass of wine, maybe, and then back to bed.'

Sunday was nearly normal, She took a long walk in the Berkeley hills, read the New York Times (and did the puzzle). It wasn't until

evening that she realized that she had not faced Monday morning. What was she going to share with the class? A calm, factual description of her bondage session (censored, of course) or some careful sharing of her mixed response, or----or what? She decided she would let the students share first, And then--and then--she wasn't sure. Her personal ethic would not allow her to cop out, she knew; evade, censor, perhaps, but she knew, at some level, she would have to be honest with her class.

****************

And now she stood before them. Her voice quavered a bit as she began: "Class, let's get right to today's assignment. My bondage weekend, or whatever. What did we experience; what did we find out? Who would like to share first?"

Zach interrupted: "Ms. Jousse, did you--you know----do a juicy----no pun intended----bondage trip, too? I've got a bet on this!"

"I don't know if you win or lose your bet, Zach, but I made you guys a promise. I'll share my personal trip with you. But I'd like you to go first. Fair enough? Who's first?"

There was a long pause. Justine was surprised when Martin volunteered. The slightly built science major cleared his throat and began:

"Well, this is something I didn't know anything about, so I went to google on the web. Type in 'bondage' and you get thousands of sites! It's unreal! Anyway. I ran into an Italian artist named Saudelli; he's into women's feet and tight rope ties; there's no sex."

*

So, anyway. I called my girlfriend, she's into shoes and foot massage, and she's ticklish. So, I thought there might be a connection. So, she came over, and I downloaded one of the foot fetish bondage tapes, and she went nuts! I mean, I didn't think...." He gulped, and looked at Justine.

"Go on, Martin; this is fascinating. Class, everything we share today is confidential. OK?" They all nodded. Martin continued.

" I mean, she was really crazy! So we went out for pizza, but she wanted to go to a hardware store on the way back to her place; we bought fifty feet of clothes line. I got to tell you, at this point, I was freaked! And pretty aroused, too. Back at my place, we ate, had a few beers and then An---I'm not going to say her name--insisted we see the video again, and--I've got to admit it turned me on--while we were watching, she started taking off her clothes. I mean, OK, It was kind of all of them, and then she kind of posed and asked, no, demanded that I tie her up, just like the Saudelli pictures. So I did my best. It was kind of a challenging, scientific, you know, tight, but not too tight, the rope patterns almost geometric. The rope pressing into her soft flesh. tighter and tighter, like a computer game. Lots of ropes; wrists, elbows, ropes around and under her tits, I have to admit I got into it----the patterns, the precision---- ˆI'm kind of mathematical, you know."

*

"A-------- no name, OK? was already into it. She wiggled in delight as I roped her waist, tugging the clothesline tight, really tight. Then I did her thighs and ankles, just like in the video, and then hog tied her. Actually, that felt kind of neat when I rolled her on her stomach and roped her wrists and ankles almost together, like on the tape. She went nuts when I took off her shoes and socks, licked and caressed her feet for a while, and then tickled her soles with a feather."

Martin paused. cleared his throat. "It was a great assignment, Ms. Juesse. It's not like we haven't done kinky stuff before, but this was very heavy----for both of us. And I think we'll explore this stuff some more." He sat down.

"Hey! What happened next?" Zach said. "I mean, that's a hot story! Did you score?"

"That's personal. This is my report on bondage. But I've got to say, it was a stimulating assignment." He grinned at Zach.

Justine relaxed a bit. "Martin, that was a great report: Personal, informative--I've never heard of this Saudelli guy. Who wants to go next?"

Vicki got up, slowly. Slightly overweight, but with a sweet face, (Justine had often wished she could make wardrobe and grooming suggestions to Vicki. None of her business, of course; Vicki exuded a kind of sweet helplessness.), She was wearing a short plaid skirt, which emphasized her prominent butt and heavy thighs, and a sweatshirt.

"I told my roommate about this assignment." she began. "We had never talked about this kind of stuff before and I was kind of surprised that she kind of wanted to fool around. So, we got some belts and scarves and clothes line. She asked me 'who will be the bottom, who will be the top?' I didn't know what she meant; so she explained it. So I was the---- I think they're called dominatrix---- first. But when I think about it, she was running the show. She undressed and put on a short, sheer nightie; she demanded I wear black stockings, a garter belt and a black push up bra----this was all her stuff, not mine. I felt weird, but----kind of sexy, too.

"So anyway, I tied her up, turned her over on our bed, and spanked her a little bit ; she was squirming and moaning, but----I've got to admit, I felt kind of foolish, even bored. So anyway, she said. 'Ok, now it's my turn. You're my slave!" Well. OK. fair is fair, I thought. she was playing a prison warden, or something, a real bitch-- a side of her I've never seen, OK?, anyway, she made me strip and bend over and fooled with my--bottom; it's pretty big as you've probably noticed." She blushed hesitated then continued:

*

"OK. She stripped me completely--and strapped my wrists behind me, then my upper arms, and my chest and then---- well I might as well tell you---- she roped up my breasts----which are kind of large----so tight that they started to swell up. And then she put clamps on my nipples which we really swollen like strawberries by now."

All the men in the class eyed Vicki's full figure, unfortunately hidden in her drooping sweatshirt, with new interest. She continued:"Then she pushed me onto our bed, face down and tied my ankles to the bedposts; I was spread wide open, my fat butt a target, and she whipped me." Vicki paused. Every person in the class was riveted, waiting for her to continue.

"She whipped me a lot. With a wide leather belt, with her hands, with a folded wire coat hanger. This is the weird part. I was in pain, in agony! My butt, my whole bottom was warm, smarting. My roommate was going crazy! I pleaded for her to stop! And already I was feeling strange. and then she began to massage me with some sort of oil, and finally untied my legs and turned me over. and made love to me; later she left me with a collar and chain around my neck; my hands were still cuffed and my breasts and nipples were throbbing and sore, she had left the clamps on. but----and-- and this is the part about the bondage report----I loved it! Being the bottom, the one who gets all the spankings, that's where I belonged. A surprise.

*

Amy asked: "Vicki,. wow! You are sharing so much. But I have to

ask: are you going to stay with this sadistic bitch?"

Vicki smiled, shyly. "Actually, we've resolved this. We're going to explore this B and D and S and M together, I'm not angry with her. I think I found out something about being a victim. So maybe I can lose some weight and be more sexy; who knows? But I have to tell you that being submissive really turns me on! But don't any of you try to take advantage of me!" She flashed a glance at Zach.

Justine was moved by Vicki's frank report, and connected it with her own discovery over the weekend. Bondage was just a symbol of victimhood! Vicki's, and perhaps her own! But she couldn't deal with this just yet. She said: "Vicki, your statement is so personal, so powerful,

so----gutsy! I'm indebted to you. You too, Martin. This project has clearly pushed lots of buttons. I only hope that my own report will be as fearless. Who's next?"

Jamal got to his feet. He was bright but prickly, contentious. Justine had sensed that he would view each sexuality issue in black---make that African American----and white terms. She was not surprised by his presentation.

Jamal faced his classmates. "Boys and girls! All this bondage and discipline is just white folks foolin' around, real bondage was--and is--my people!"

"What I researched over the weekend, was chains, and manacles, and other punishment stuff used against the slave brothers! I can tell you about all the shit that went down!"

Zach interrupted: "Jamal, pardon me, man, but this is the same old tirade we've heard before; the assignment this week was a personal exploration of bondage, so I don't need to see pictures of old handcuffs. Who did you tie up over the weekend?"

Jamal glared at Zach; for a moment the possibility of violence was in the air. Then he relaxed a bit. "You got me, man, I didn't do the

homework. But a brother don't need to fool around in school to know what bondage is."

Zach, subdued:" I hear that, man; sorry; I was out of line," He paused. "Miss Jousse, can I do my presentation next?"

Relieved, Justine nodded assent. Zach, with his usual over the top style, lugged his good sized TV monitor onto Justine's desk and connected the DVD player, He shot her a triumphant glance.

"OK, guys. I've seen some of these bondage films, so I thought I'd make one , too. My buddy, Duane, is the cameraman, and I am the evil star. I got the actress from----never mind where, a friend of a friend, as

they say, but a hell of an actress. What was I trying to do? Substitute bondage for the usual brutal rape and sex stuff; though I'm not opposed to that. OK, here we go."

The DVD starts; Justine lowers the classroom light; she's strangely anxious to see what her most brash and unpredictable student has produced.

No titles. The video begins with Zach, playing Zach, but very grungy: dirty jeans, boots, a Kurt Cobain t shirt. He's walking down a nondescript street, shabby, urban. A pretty blonde catches up to him; he turns, surprised. Let it be said right now that this blonde is gorgeous, full figured, but long legged, exuberant breasts, glorious tan, sunbleached short blond locks, wearing a chic DKNY outfit----Martin looked at Jamal. If Zach, good old Zach, was somehow going to get this hot babe into ropes and chains, Wow!. Jamal nodded back.

Blonde(Ashley): Zach! Oh, Zach! I'd like to talk to you, if that's ok?

Zach (Henceforth they're A and Z): Ashley! Hell yes, it's OK! I didn't think you even knew my name!

A: Sure, I know----about you. Listen, I'd like to ask you to do me a big favor.

Z: You;re shitting me. What favor could I do for a rich bitch--I'm sorry--a rich coed----like you?

A: (pouts) Don't be mean. We cant talk about it here, lets get some coffee."

New scene : Starbucks. They are at a back table. Ashley has been talking for a while.

A: ------and so. like I said, I want you to kidnap me, not really, of course, but just so my stepfather will pay me a big ransom!

Z: What is this? A joke?

A: No, its for real. See, he's a selfish, lecheous rich bastard. Ever since my mother left him I've hated every minute. He's so strict, and he keeps coming on to me.

Z: I can see why. No, no----go on.!

A: I've got a chance to get out; to go away with someone----I can't tell you who.

Z: If I kidnap you, maybe its me.

A: (impatient) No, not you. Im sorry. But--you're just right for the kidnapper!.

Z: Right for a kidnapper? How's that?

A: OH, you know what I mean, you live in this trailer, alone.

Z: I live with my uncle. He's---- he's just gone right now.

A: I know! In prison! This will be so rad! What we'll do, you grab me in front of my house, so my stepfather sees it; he always lurks in the hall when I come home from school. and then you drive away....

Z; In my unmarked car. Right.

A: No, silly , we'll use my car. You jump out of the bushes, or something, grab me----I'm screaming---- throw me in the car, and speed away!

Z:You are one crazy lady! And then what?

A: We hide out in your trailer, you take a picture of me, probably tied up, looking scared. We write a ransom note : 'Ashley is in big danger', all that ransom note stuff. And you ask for fifty thousand dollars. And heres the best part: you send him the picture of me, in big trouble! Rape, probably, maybe worse, if he doesn't act fast!

Z: Ashley, you're nuts! Use your car? My place? Drop off the picture??

With cops swarrning there? No way!

She seemed not to hear him and continued to outline her scenario:

A: But I have a laptop and a digital camera thingie! We can send him a picture of me, all tied up, in seconds! And that other stuff! No problem! We'll use my car like I said! Im just getting out and you grab me from behind, I scream, we're out of there!. We send the picture to his email; he has to put an ad on his website agreeing to our terms, and then we email the site for the ransom pick up! I've figured this all out! Really! OH, Zach, I know we can do it (she reaches for his hand) Zach! Oh, I could kiss you!

Z: I said, before---- how much for me?

A: Oh, half, I guess.

Z; then make it a hundred grand; half of that, and I'm in.

A; (she does kiss him, across the table) One more thing: I think the photos should be a little rough, me in tight bondage, clothes torn, stuff like that, so he'll really wan't to get me back! Can you do that?

Z: OH, yes! Fade.

The new scene is in Zach's trailer. Ashley is lying on a couch, naked, her hands and elbows bound; she still wears her cute little gym socks, Her smile is uncertain.

A: Zach! Did you have to... I shouldn't have let you...Oh! I' so embarassed!

*

Z: You're bare assed, honey, that's for sure. Let me get one more shot (Clicks digital camera) That should do it. I left your car in a mall parking lot about a mile away, No fingerprints, I think we're fine, Hey, this is kind of a blast! And you look real hot, tied up like that.. Real hot. I bet old Cedric will have the cash in no time. You were you going to say?

A:: Did you have to strip me like that, and show my--you know--pussy and everything? I know he'll be getting back to us real soon,as soon as he sees that awful picture. I know it!

Z: Why?

A: Becuse he's my step father. Actually, because he wants to fuck me.

Z: Many men do, I'm guessing, including your partner in crime, here. Lie there all tied up a litle longer, babe. I'm going out to get some pizza and beer. (He leaves; she struggles, deliciously, to no avail)

New scene. It is night; Ashley, untied, and Zach; empty beer bottles and a pizza carton on the table, both staring at the laptop. She's slipped her little dress, somewhat the worse for wear, back on.

Z: Shit! Nothing's going to happen tonight. Maybe your daddy ain't so concerned about your awful plight after all? I'm going to bed.

'

A: I really thought he'd email me by now. Hey? Where will I sleep? And I haven't got a nightie!

'

Z: I'll lend you one of my uncle's shirts. Sleep with me or in my uncle's bed, I dont care; I'm tired.

Brief scene change. Zach is sitting on his bed in his shorts, pulling off his socks. Ashey emerges from the bathroom, wearing an old fashioned grimy man's undershirt; it barely covers her hips or her furry blonde pubic area, and shows her breasts to advantage; they swell on each side of the narrow undershirt straps and her nipples poke against the thin cloth.

A: That's a really crummy shower! Hardly any hot water!

Z: I call it home, lady. (looks up) You got a real rack on you, great tits, you know? Yeah, I bet you know.

A: Maybe we had best stick to business, They're breasts, not tits!

Z: Yeah, business. I want to be sure you don't use you cute little computer in the middle of the night, pick up the money and split. So, as a precaution, (smiles) I'm going to tie you up again.

A; OK, if you dont trust me! If you have to! I kinda dig bondage, if you have to know.

Z: You kind of dig bondage----that's tieing up, isn't it----do you? Let's see what I can do for you.

Zach picks up a length of clothesline and ties her wrists behnd her back. He walks her to uncle's bed, lies her on her belly, and ties her ankles, then her thighs, and finishes tugging the rope over her wrist bonds and back to her ankles; she is hogtied, the skimpy undershirt rucked up around her waist, rounded ass and crotch exposed.

A: Oh! Youre pretty god at this, you bastard! Maybe we should send this picture to Cedrick! Umm! that's so tight!

Z; Pictures can wait, long as you stay put. Good night now, I'm sure you'll sleep tight. He turns out the lights..

New scene: morning, Zach is just getting up, yawning, he's wearing the same grimy boxer shorts. He stretches then walks across the trailer

to Ashley; She has not been able to loosen her bonds during the night; she's still doubled up,wrists and ankles nearly meeting, and justifiably furious.

A: Turn me loose, you bastard! Tieing me up wasn't necessary! Not all night!

Z: (cheerful) maybe not, but you look just right for another picture now; hair all frizzled, kind of mad, and sexy as hell. Time for dear old dad to get another picture.

A: Oh, OK,, I guess. I'll roll over. How's that?

*

Z: Sensational!

Next scene: Ashley, untied, back in her dress. They' re sitting around the little table again; this time MacDonalds bags and wrappers accent the new plle of empty beer bottles. Ashley belches.

A: Its late afternoon! why hasn't he called? I'm so tired of this greasy fast food!

Z:: I think we got a losing proposition here, baby. That mean ole stepdaddy of yours clearly doesn't mind seeing you suffer. Let's send him

one more photo, and then pack it in.

A: I'm sure its just a computer glitch. Oh, OK, one more shot.

'

Z;l Get your clothes off, this one is going to smart!

He strips her naked, then ties her wrists and arms over her head, roped behind the back of her neck Then he runs ties of black rope above and below her jutting breasts, knotting them, He ties on a tight waist cinch, then pulls the dangling end between her legs, tight, very tight, until the rope disappers deep between her thighs, in her vulva. He pulls the rope up behind he back and ties it to the wrist bonds behind her neck. She is arched backwards , by the severe bondage. he adds a grimy cloth gag. Zach takes the picture; he's figured out how to send it, and waits.

*

He's gagged her so she can only moan as she struggles with the tight rope rubbing in her tender pussy; She staggers around the room; Zach watches, grinning. He makes no move to turn her loose.

Z: Ashley. its been a blast up until now. I love seeing an uppity rich bitch in bondage, under my control, my will. But if daddy doesn't call pretty soon, I'm going to have to fuck you first, then put you on the street somewhere they won't find you for a while, because, if they get me as a part of this crazy scheme, it's my ass. Twenty years in the joint, maybe. I'll check the computer one more time.

A: (She squirms, tries to tell him something behind her gag nods her head toward the screen; there was a message; maybe Cedric was finally going to pay the ransom and rescue her!)

Z: (looking at the screen, then straightening up with a big grin) "Let me read this: 'Greetings, whoever you are. Keep on sending the wonderful pictures, I can't get enough. As to ransom, tell the spoiled slut that I won't pay a dime for her release. If you, on the other hand, want to keep her in increasingly stringent bondage and other predicaments----I don't know, whipping and spanking, of course, forced sex, piercing, branding----the possibilities are endless!--I'll give you two thousand dollars for each day's picture. How about it?"

Z: (looks slowly at the bound girl, her eyes wide with terror and disbelief.)

A: NO! NO! she shakes her head.

Z: ( walking to her, caressing her bound breasts, tweaking the tight cunt rope, his smile now broad, a little sinister). Ashley, I just got an offer I can't refuse!

THE END.

When the DVD ended, there was a mixed reaction. "Way to go, Zach"---- that was Jamal. " Very good" said Eliot. Martin applauded. "Three stars; really raunchy!" But the girls were silent, until Vicki said:

"That is so----so sexist! Just awful! Women as victims! And she was such a bitch! But she didn't deserve that!""

"Isn't that what most bondage is all about, sex, victims?" Zach

replied, not a bit abashed.

Martin added: "That was so rotten, so totally not politically correct, so much about taking down a proud woman, that every woman's group in the country will condemn it. Take it commercial, man, if you can; you'll make a fortune with the men!"

Zach favored him with an ironic nod, He had the same daydream of success; think about Deep Throat!

"Hey, you guys!" Justine raised her voice a bit. "That's what we're going to discuss tomorrow; if this genre is mainly about sex, or just another face of male disrespect for women. Let's not go there now. But, Zach, I must say, you stuck--just barely--to the assignment, but you sure got in a lot of macho attitude, didn't you? and some first class pornography. OK. let's move on. Amy, I think you're next."

Amy was somewhat subdued today; instead of her tight low cut jeans and cut off t shirt, she wore a fairly modest cotton dress; the miniskirt showed off her lovely legs to advantage, but there was something muted, almost decorous sbout her as she rose to speak; Justine noticed the change at once.

" I had a-- very strange bondage experience." she began, her voice softer than usual. "First, I must tell you, I live between two worlds. My parents are very Japanese, very old fashioned. I know they love me; so I don't mind. But I stop at my girl friend's house to change into the clothes you see me wear--trashy modern, Britney Spears stuff. No belly button ring yet----probably never. My parents don't know anything about this. Anyway, I shared the class assignment with them on Friday night;. I don't share everything with them, but this felt important. They were attentive, mainly approving. There is a long Japanese history of bondage, very complicated, partly female submission ritual, partly an art form, like bonsai trees or rock gardens. I didn't know this until my parents told me."

"They said: 'If you study this thing, you would be wise to follow your own tradition, not some American popular fad.' That sounded right to me,

and then they told me that my uncle----he lives in Hayward, he's a chef, an

older guy, 50, 60, something like that, my father's older brother. Anyway,

it turns out that he's a bondage master, keeping the faith, if you will, like a Native American shaman, or healer."

"So my father is on the phone , telling Hikoro-that's my uncle's name--that his college girl niece has a chance to open western eyes to this ancient tradition, I'm, like, 'Dad--its not a big deal!' but he persists, turns to me and says. 'Your uncle will instruct you tomorrow. This is a great honor.' So I say: 'sure', because I am kind of thinking I'm going to get a story that the rest of you won't. OK?"

With her soft voice she had their attention; especially Justine's. 'Traditional Japanese rope master,' she thought, 'not a disquieting figure like Hugo.' Amy continued:

"I see Hikoro maybe two times a year, at family events, so I don't really know him; he's quiet, not very tall, hard to describe. So, when I take BART down to Hayward, I don't know what to expect, OK? His apartment is very modest. but once inside the door, I'm back a hundred years, in another country--Japan. Translucent bamboo and paper room

dividers, just a few wall hangings, one lone bonsai tree, tatami mats on all the floors. And there he is, my uncle, the chef in a franchised Sizzler's, dressed in a kimono and zoris. I should mention I'm wearing straight Japanese schoolgirl stuff; blouse, skirt, sneakers. OK?"

"So I stand there, and finally say: 'Hi, Uncle Hikoro'. and I bow. He says: '"Ah, Amy , it's good to see you. Your father tells me that your studies have led you to my ancient tradition. It is good!" Well, I'm not going to contradict him."

"He says:' the ancient practice of bukaku--the West calls it bondage with ropes--is a worthy subject to study----and most important----to experience. Are you ready for that?' I just nodded, I guess, pretty much clueless. He led me into a second room, bare except for a low table covered with coils and coils of different colored

rope----definitely weird. There was an overhead pulley, some kind of suspension device. and all kids of other stuff, leather straps, like that."

"'So, we begin' he said. 'Take off your clothes, please."

"So I did; my blouse, my skirt, and then my bra. And finally my panties; it was kinda like I was hypnotized, you know? I never thought to disobey him. This is part of my family, my aged and respected uncle. He smiled. 'You are very lovely; A fine student for bukaku!"

"He took one coil of rope---- I have to tell you that the ropes are so soft, silk, maybe, I don't know, but totally unyielding---- and almost gently, he tied my wrists together behind my back, very tight. And them came more ropes, pulling my elbows back and together, above and below my breasts, each turn tighter and tighter . He knotted the ties together with an elegant, almost beautiful knot. I was----scared----. but kind of excited, helpless, you know? From my waist up, I couldn't move. Then he tied my thighs together, then more ropes around my knees, and ankles, total bondage, tight, symmetrical."

*

"I couldn't move, like I said; totally helpless. He smiled a tiny scary smile and said: 'I see you as a brave woman, a seeker for new experiences. So, now I will show you the dark side of our bondage art." He didn't ask, he just told me, Then he selected another handful of rope, coarser, abrasive----hemp, this time,"

Hemp! Omigod! Justine almost lost it then; she was so conflating Amy's story with her own; her hand absently strayed to her belly, where the welts from that horrible scratchy rope still lingered.

Amy continued: "I stood there helpless , teetering for balance on my tied legs; he circled my waist with with the harsh rope, cinched it tight----I almost couldn't breathe----he knotted it, and left the long end dangling between my legs. I still trusted my venerable uncle but was beginning to have some doubts. No matter, I realized, I was totally his victim now; he could do as he liked with me."

" He stepped behind me. then; knelt and gently separated

my----my----you know, buns! And reached between my thighs, grabbed the dangling rope and tugged it----back, up----against my----OK, into my pussy, tight against my asshole, and knotted this rope into my arm and wrist

ties. I had been quiet up until now, except for a few gasps of surprise and pain when he had bound my breasts; OK? But now I spoke:' "

"Revered Uncle, you are hurting me, please stop! Please!'"

*

"He stood away from me, arms folded, like he was looking at

something in a museum, He smiled again.:'It is good. your piteous voice

and tears complete my artistic creation. He was right; I was sobbing now and whimpering in pain;The coarse hemp rope was hurting my pussy with each tiny move I made. Beloved Uncle Hikoro was a sadist, a woman hater! Just a Japanese version of a dirty old man! And he wasn't finished with me yet."

"He untied the harsh hemp and carried me to the futon, forced me to kneel. 'Here is is the other dark side of bukaku he said, discarding his kimono. That--that was all he was wearing. He untied my ankles, my thighs, spread my legs, put his hands on my ass again, rubbing, kneading, spreading me..........I just can't tell you the rest!:" Amy broke down, sobbing.

*

Justine was there in a second, cradling, soothing Amy. Her own

experience----betrayal, indignity, but not quite rape, which she was sure Amy had suffered----made her more sympathetic, perhaps, than her normal slightly distancing professorial mien would have allowed. All the other students clustered around, with physical strokes or words showing their caring. "Amy! that was so heavy!" said Vicki.

"I--I know..I know,!..." Amy sobbed. " I didn't really mean to tell. you all that stuff; it just sort of----came out.'" She began to weep again, against Justine's chest.

Justine was almost in tears herself. She felt that she had almost merged with Amy and their awful ordeals. Right then she vowed to share her story with he class as bravely as Amy had done. But not today; the class had already run late, way late.

"Class----this has been----what can I say? Powerful, very special. We'll continue tomorrow. And yes, you'll hear my adventure in bondage. Let me tell you again: everything you've heard today stays in the classroom. Frank exploration of these sometimes difficult issues demands our utmost discretion. But I know you all know that. See you tomorrow."

Trying to decompress from that intense class, Justine stopped for a cappuccino. then almost without volition she entered the upscale sex

store run by two charming lesbians; Justine had met one of them at a faculty event. She stood, a bit dazed at the displays of vibrators, lubricants, ben-wa balls and lots and lots of restraints. She selected a set of leather handcuffs, no, two, and some leather straps, and----a red rubber ball gag, almost exactly like the one Hugo had used to insure her silence. And ducked her head, blushing slightly, as she paid cash to the leering clerk.

THREE

DO IT YOURSELF

Back in her apartment, Justine reheated the remains of the cassoulet and ate, scarcely tasting her food. ' I'm drinking too much, she thought absently, and poured herself another glass of Zinfandel. Later, she showered, toweled, and stood nude in front of her full length mirror for a long time., surveyong her still damp lush body, first coquettishly, then in a series of steamier, intense poses.

*

Always enamored of herself, Justine was getting hot. She tried to look into her mirrored eyes, but could not meet her own gaze. This----this bondage thing, this obsession , was not going away. "Oh hell!" she told her reflection: "You know you're going to do it! Get on with it!"

She got her new purchases, the two sets of cuffs and the gag. and realized that she wasn't really equipped for serious bondage. the dungeons and all she had seen in the porno movies. But she found an old length of chain with a collar, from the prior renter's dog, she guessed. And a broad leather belt. there were no ropes in the house----yet. She returned to the bathroom mirror; by now she sensed that seeing her body bound, controlled, was a big part of the turn on for her. She recognized her streaks of nacissism and exhibitionism; she gloried in her own loveliness. But still--self bondage? That was a bit weird. And then

she reluctantly recalled her near orgasm with Hugo--Dr. Schreclich. Well. whatever. I'm a little bit drunk, she admitted to herself... and giggled. She posed, pirouetted, seducing herself in the full length mirror, getting hotter, until her need to do self bondage was nearly irresistable., Sitting on the toilet, (lid down ), she held the gag in both hands for awhile. Yes? No? Tie myself up, really tie myself up---- or not? First of all, another glass of wine.

Then, shuddering, she opened her jaws as wide as she could, and forced the ball behind her teeth. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she buckled the leather strap at the base of her skull----tightly. Looking in the mirror, she saw her classic features distorted, her jaw stretched, her mouth gaping wide in a silent scream, her eyes wild. "I'm either a roast suckling pig with an apple in her mouth or a Munsch painting', she told herself, a tiny bit of her usual wit still present..

She leaned over and buckled the first set of cuffs around her ankles; The thick leather clasps clicked shut; the keyole, she noticed,was tiny. And the short connecting chain was four inches long, at best. She wriggled her ankles, thrilling at the first hint of constraint. She left the keys to both sets of cuff on the toilet lid.

Now, improvising, she looped the long dog chain over her shoulders, crossed it behind her back and loosely knotted it around her waist; the tightly buckled leather belt--she gasped as she cinched it--secured the waist chain, then she bent and linked the snap fastening of the dog chain to the ankle cuffs. She could still straighten up; barely. This was getting exciting!

Now for the wrist cuffs. She locked one in place and placed the key on the toilet lid. She put both hands behind her back and thought: 'what if?' She recalled one sexy arched bondage pose in one of the movies, the voluptuous redhead's wrists and ankles were shackled together behind her back. "Maybe I could...'

*

Impulsively, she slid off the toilet seat ond onto the cold tile floor.On her side, she flexed her legs and looped the unfastened wrist cuff through the ankle chain. Arched. arms straining. she was barely able to secure and click shut the left hand cuff. And finally,her fingers fumbling, the right cuff. The tiny click had an awful air of--finality? Bridges burnt, she thought. Now she was truly hog tied--or hog cuffed. And, bent as she was, the double links of the dog chain tugged between her legs, bisecting and abrading her vaginal lips.

She squirmed. 'Ouch! And OOH! If I can just...' The interlocking cuff

chains gave her almost no room to maneuver or ease the already painful back bend. She flopped on the cold floor, scarcely able to move as she strained at the implacable cuffs. Unfortunately, the wine was beginning to wear off. This was not nearly the sexual fantasy she had hoped for!

Minutes passed. Long minutes. Justine continued to struggle, to find a

comfortable position (there was none) and slowly began to realize that escape was going to be perhaps impossible. 'The cleaning woman had a key; she'd be here in three days--no. no don't think like that! Got to get the key!' Suddenly the toilet lid, only three feet off the floor, seemed like Mt. Everest. If not for the harsh gag, she would have sobbed. But silent, drooling, her tears flowed.

Thirty minutes of strenuous inching across the floor, finally moving against the wall. (The linked cuffs demanded that she balance on her knees in order to reach the toilet) through the pain, she lunged with her chin; once, twice, finally! The handcuff keys were on the tile floor.

Almost gratefully, Justine slumped in her chains once more as her fingers groped for the precious key. Never mind her cramping shoulder and thigh muscles or the throbbing pain from the intrusive chain in her cunt; freedom was at hand. Perhaps.

Thirty minutes later, bathed in sweat, Justine was abour ready to give up. She had finally found the key, fingers groping, wriggling on the floor, but coould not reach either keyhole in her cuffs. Despairing, she flexed her chained ankles one more time. 'Of course! It's the same key!`She realized. It wasn't easy. but soon she had unlocked one ankle cuff, which released her wrists (and eased the punishing chain). She stretched greatefully, still gagged with wrists cuffed behind her back.

'That Goddamn slippery little key!' It took another forty minutes for Justine to free herself. As she wrenched off the gag and headed for the shower, shie tried not to look at the time on her digital clock., but couldn't help herself. It was 3:40 AM. She had been in self inflicted bondage for over five hours! And tomorrow, bright and early, she as going to have to face that class. And make good on her promise; to tell all.

FOUR

MANACLES AND SHACKLES

Morning came way too soon; Justine's alarm jangled her awake, she had had, maybe, three hours of sleep. Given her two past troubled nights, she knew that she was not at her best to face her class, now riding the giddy wave of bondage fever, as it were. But she had promised. And given the frank and compelling disclosures of yesterday's class, she knew that she, too, would have to expose herself. Part of her shrank at the prospect, but, as she ate her half grapefruit and drank her coffee, her resolve firmed. She dressed in a sensible linen suit, then confronted herself in the mirror once more. "No, that's phony! That's not what I wore!"I'll do it!" She took a deep breath and told herself, "the whole nine yards!"

Quickly, before she could change her mind, she undressed, taking off the tailored suit and tasteful blouse she had intended to wear. She took another deep breath and hastily selected the outfit she had worn to that awful meeting with Hugo Schrecklich; the garter belt, the dark hose, the three inch high heels. She sprawled blatantly before her mirror before she donned the wispy panties and bra. She posed seductively before her mirror once more, gathering her courage, and trying not to, once again, be seduced by her own loveliness. 'God, you're beautiful!' She told herself once more, touching herself lightly, banishing the prior nights strangely exciting nightmare of self bondage.

*

Finally, she slipped into the same short, salaciously tiny black silk dress . She confronted her mirror one more time, hand on hips, muttered '''bondage slut," trying to pump up her courage, picked up her briefcase, and as an afterthought stuffed the cuffs and ball gag inside, and went to meet her class.

As she entered the classroom--never mind the leers and catcalls in the hallway--she began to rethink her decison to 'let it all hang out' --literally. She blushed coyly for a moment, only too aware that she was causing a sensation as she faced her small class.

*

Right away, her dress, her----"Maybe it 's a costume," Vicki whispered to Amy-- whole demeanor riveted, dazed the class. Jamal, Martin, and especially Zach, were stunned, mesmerized.. and instantly horny.

"Ms. Jousse, You look----awesome today!" that was Zach. "Way true!"----that was Jamal. Justine stood before the class, leaning back against the front of her desk, her usual classroom stance. Today, however her tiny black dress was short and flimsy enough to ride up her

thighs as she spoke: dark hose, a hint of garter, an occasional flash of white thigh; the men were transfixed. This was Sharon Stone time!

She blushed and said:

"It' s my turn to share with you my bondage experience. I promised. As late as last night, I thought I'd cop out, invoke teacher's dignity, something like that. But you guys showed me so much honesty and risk taking yesterday that 'I've got to do the same. Just like yesterday, anything I say stays in this room."

She smoothed down her skirt and stood now. "So it's all your fault; you dared me to get involved in this trip,----I didn't mean just you, Zach. If there's any fault, it's mine. I'm supposed to be responsible, a big girl. So. I'll tell you what happened, and then we can discuss it. along with all your reports from yesterday, OK? For my bondage session this outfit is what I wore, dressed like a ----dressed up like what?" She posed, throwing out one hip. "What am I doing? " She thought. 'Am I going to relive that whole embarrasment?' Evidently she was.

She repeated: "So how do you think I'm dressed?" She struck another salacious pose. "Well?"

*"

"Like a ho!" Jamal said, beaming.

"I'm afraid you're right, Jamal. A 'ho'. I wanted to impress this guy, who I'd never met; maybe I wanted to tease him; the bondage tapes I reviewed before these sessions were full of sex and implied sex, after all. So I get there, and I'm getting cold feet, but before I get the chance to walk out, there's this guy, taking me into his office. Just an ordinary looking guy, OK? No Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp."

"So, I'm pretending to be cool; I offer to interview him from my vantage point as a professor. Im supercilious, amused, looking for a little safe titillation for my class, OK? Well, he would have none of that. He

was onto my act in the first thirty seconds. 'I don't do interviews'. he tells me, 'just real bondage. If your not up for that, you're wasting my time.' So

he's calling my bluff, see? Daring me to leave. And since I'm----or used to

be---- a bit arrogant, sure of myself, I accept his challenge.

."Of course I'll do a session with you,' I say.' It might be----amusing.' He just smiled and led me into his----workshop, or, if you will, torture chamber, take your choice. Kind of like your uncle's place, Amy. So he describes bondage, the rules; it's all voluntary, you've an

escape word to say when you want to stop. Then he says: I'm going to tie you up now, and you'll feel----different. And he was right!"

Justine paused to take several deep breaths before she continued . The class was rapt, hanging on every word. She was beginning to pace now, nervously, in front of her desk, flouncing with her high heels and short skirt, but not consciously.

"When he tied my wrists behind my back--tight--I felt a wave of helplessness and excitement flood over me. At the same time. I was----I don't know; stunned, blown away, what ever----and a little bit turned on, All my smart ass professor pose had dissolved, just like that. So I stood there, squirming a bit-- How had he tied me up so tight, so fast?

"He untied me right away. And smiled his little smile and said. 'See, professor, experience trumps academic bullshit every time, You're free to go of course, your ----curiousity ----unanswered, Or you can stay. He waited for my answer, calmly, very sure of himself. I just nodded, like a fool.

"Good! Excellent, in fact! First, please take off that lovely dress. I wouldn't want to wrinkle it." His exact words.

"And I did; he was daring me again---- I took off my dress----this dress----no, I'm not going to do it today, Zach--and kind of posed and wiggled, showing off my body. 'Adequate', he said----what a put down,

right?. 'Now, your bra!" I did it; I'm---- OK. I'm going to share it all!--I'm kind of proud of my breasts, and I'm afraid I stuck out my chest and wiggled a little bit more. He was behind me then; he moved so quickly!"

"With one rope, ropes-- perhaps the same strong silk cords your

uncle used, Amy.--very quickly, I was tied tight, arms, elbows nearly together behind my back, ropes criss crossing, over and under my breasts. I'm not going to do all the details, it was a little bit painful, very scary, and----somehow, I wanted to continue."

The class was hushed, as she continued.

"Now here, I think, is the critical point. Where I was an arrogant fool. He commanded that I call him' Master'. I refused; it was a domination issue; here I was, nearly naked, helpless, trying to play games with this

guy, asking for it, right? I refused, foolish, proud, several times. Finally he said 'enough of your insolence', or something like that, and forced a ball

gag between my teeth. Do you know what a ball gag is? Anyone?" Three hands went up. "I'll tell you; it's a big smelly rubber ball on a strap, it fills your mouth almost completely, your jaws are forced wide apart, and its strapped to the back of your neck,very tightly. You can sputter a little bit, and whimper and drool, but you really can't make a sound.

"And then I realized, dazed choking, fighting the gag, that I had lost any sort of control of the situation; even if I had an 'escape' word, now I couldn't say it. He could do anything to me. So, my arrogance, my stubbornness, had gotten me into deep, deep trouble".

The class was hanging on every word.

Justine paused again She had unconsciously crossed her hands behnd her back, eyes half shut as she told her story. She blinked back to real time. For nearly thirty seconds she waited, sighed deeply, and faced them, she had never had so attentive an audience. She was surprised to find that this confession, this performance, really, was getting easier. I"m like a stripper down to her G-string, she thought, And here it goes!"

"I promised myself to share this next part, and I will. He took my

panties off then, rolled them down my thighs, caressed them and then---- smelled them, and grinned; I blushed; I was turned on by then and had gotten a bit wet..There! I said it! So sex rears its ugly head. I blushed, and trembled. He had me! He knew it; I knew it.

" He led me over to a kind of leather horse, like they use in the

Olympics, you know, for vaulting, bent me over, tied me down with a broad leather strap and then spread my legs, ankles wide apart, strapping me to rings in the floor. Then he mocked me, teased me, squeezed my breasts, and finally massaged, and explored my bottom, my --you know, my sex."

Justine took another deep breath; was all this sensual detail prudent, necessary? she wondered. Then answered herself: too late to stop now, she had already dropped her G string, so to speak.She had

totally exposed herself.

She continued:" He began to spank me, slowly at first, then harder and harder. My butt throbbed and smarted. This went on for what seemed a long time; I would have been screaming, but the gag limited

me to a few pitiful bleats. Finally he whipped me, really whipped me--four strokes with a thin bamboo cane. I can't describe the pain! I still have the marks, the welts----and I'm not going to show them to you----but they are still there. "

She paused one last time, breathing deeply almost as if she was reliving her punishment. "Im almost finished. He freed my ankles and let me stand upright. My rump was burning, throbbing with pain. But somehow he knew that I had other unfinished business with myself. He tied a rope cinch around my middle. Coarse scratchy hemp, Amy. Maybe your uncle and this guy watch the same on line torture channels, I don't know. He pulled the rope; beween my thighs, of course, tied it in back to my wrist ropes, pulling it taut, I felt like I was being sawed in half; you know where!" Amy gave a little gasp. "And made me lie down on the floor--cold bare boards---- tied my thighs and ankles, then, and hog tied my flexed ankles and wrists together There I was, a miserable package of pain and total submission."

You could have heard a pin drop. Every class member had a vivid

mental picture of their proud Justine,--Ms. Jeusse-- naked, delectable, utterly helpless, hog tied, squirming on that cold floor.

*

"Finally he directs me towards a full length mirror on one wall. He suggest that I crawl, or wiggle over to it. 'Take a good long look at yourself, professor!, your cruelly bound voluptuous body, your rosy welted, whipped ass!' He says. 'Not quite your normal campus demeanor, I suspect. You have about fifteen minutes; you might inch towards that mirror and reflect----no pun intended----on what this has meant to you. Let's leave the gag in place. Perhaps we'll meet again.

"And I spent the next twenty minutes crawling to the mirror and looking at myself. And--and this is the hardest part to say: I was really turned on! The freedom of that helplesssness, just as you said, Vicki, and----and a little vicious voice in my head cackled:'you deserve this, you slut! This degradation, this pain."

*

"And I answered myself :'Maybe you're right' What was that all about? what? And my head has been messed up ever since, like I don't know why I wore this dress, this sexy underwear today. or if I want to see that guy again , Or----I'm so confused!' i didn't mean for this to happen. but my bondage trip has-is -been very heavy. Watch out for this stuff, class. it's very powerful. I-- I kind of need to do it again Her voice broke for a second., her eyes were bright with tears, She swallowed, tried a shaky little smile and finished.

"So that's my story, my bondage adventure or nightmare, probaby both. I bit off way more than I could chew. And I'm still chewing. My professional conclusion: this bondage stuff is really poweful, really dangerous! Maybe this experiment was a mistake--for all of us. But maybe, just maybe, we all learned something. That's what education is for!" Another brave smile.

The students were absolutely still for a full minute. Then Vicki started to clap; they all joined; applause, cheers, whistles. Justine teared

up again, then tried to regain her classroom composure.

"Thank you. Thank you more than I can say. Any questions, class? Oh, before I forget, this is what a ball gag looks like; I'll pass it around" . She rummaged in her briefcase, brought out the gag and handed it to the class. Vicki shrank back, Martin examined, almost fondled it before he passed it to Zach.

Finally, Amy spoke, carefully, in her soft voice. "It seems to me, " she said. "that Ms. Jousse is the bravest, the most open teacher that anyone of us will ever have." There were unanimous murmers of assent.

"I also think" she continued," that this whole bondage thing is just the top layer of our struggle to find ourselves, you know, powerful or powerless; like, controller or victim. Vicki and Martin and Ms. Jousse, and me, too, I guess-our sharing our conflicting moods and feelings----that was so great, I can't begin to thank you enough".

Jamal spoke up. He had been quiet during this love fest. "Teacher, that was beyond awesome. I truly salute you! One thing, though, I got cut short yesterday by you, Zach----but that don't mean I don't have feelings about these issues. The stuff my uncle has, that I mentioned yesterday? I brought it along today. If our teacher can pass around a ball gag, I guess I get to show some of these old time slave irons." He glared around the room, expecially at Zach, as if expecting some sort of rejection.

Justine, her long confession over, basking in the good vibes from the class and a sense of relief, very mellow and perhaps off her guard, said: "Of course, Jamal! Show us what you've got."

From his back pack he brought out a set of ancient, heavy, rusty iron manacles. He held them up before the class. "See, these handcuffs used on slaves only; too tough and brutal for the white man. Anybody want to try them on?' Justine, perversely fascinated, swallowed, strightened her back and stepped forward, reaching for the cuffs.

"These are a real artifact, Jamal; probably worth a lot." she said.

"Your uncle, does he know the history of these--actually, they are manacles---- handcuffs?" She weighed the heavy cuffs in her hands.

"I don't know. And he don't know----been in the family a long time----they gotta be, oh, about a hundred and fifty years old."

Justine was fascinated with the crude rusty heirlooms, Watch out! her inner voice warned; the voice she never listened to in time. He wrists still smarted from her long cuffed ordeal just last night..Still..."This cuff is--tiny, isn't it?" she said, gazing up at Jamal, now standing quite close to her.

"Probably for a woman, or even a child. I bet it would fit you."

"Well. Jamal----let's see!" She slipped the hinged cuff around her left wrist; then, bemused, strangely excited again, joined the twln circlets; the tongue of the one half, a toothed ratchet, moved a notch at a time into the other, creaking like the ancient device it was, into the other half circle. It ground and rasped into place with a final 'Clank'.

Justine inspected the rusty old manacle, now firmly aroud her wrist. Heavy; crude, somehow---- menacing, but strangely exciting. Jamal interrupted her reverie as he swiftly seized her wrist, cuff dangling, twisted her arm behind her back, and with his other hand, grobbed her free wrist. In seconds he had closed the other cuff. 'Clank!' again, an ominous, final sound . She was caught off guard; wrists linked tightly, crossed in the small of her back.

*

"Hey! Jamal! What are you?...' She staggered, twisted.

In one fluid motion, Jamal had made her a captive. "Oh shit! I've done it again!" she told herself. These were not modern handcuffs; the manacles were connected with a hinge; when both cuffs were closed, as they were now, there was almost no play, no motion between the two cuffs; they worked as a unit, a very unforgiving and punishing one, as Justine was learning .

Justine's arms were pinioned behind her, elbows back. Her breasts thrust forward, straining against her short black dress.. This had all happened so fast that the other students were just starting to react.

"Heavy move, my man!" This was Zach, of course. The two girls were uneasy. Justine, their teacher and role model, was sudddenly in bondage again, brought low by Jamal. It was just a harmless demonstration, but still...Martin was fascinated; he got up and stood close behind her, fingering the cuffs while Justine struggled; her fingers writhing ineffectualy, her wrists almost unable to move.The old rusty cuffs grated against her wrists as she struggled. These cuffs were so heavy, so tight--much more punishnig fetters than she had worn last night, But now Martin was there, fondling her cuffs and her bent back elbows and upper arms' The cuffs were so tight! She cringed. He'd made his point , but just turn me loose!' she thought, But the class was grinning, they thought it was Jamahl's stunt. Best to be a good sport.

"Hey, Jamal, my weird girl friend would dig these. Got any more?." said Martin, now standing behind Justine, really against her, nudging her silk clad butt as he pretended to study the cuffs.

Jamal flashed his smile. "No more handcuffs, but I got more slave stuff here." He rummaged in his back pack, knelt in front of Justine., grinned up at her, her short hemline and half exposed thighs. "Lets do the whole nine yards, OK? Let's pretend you're a slave on the way to market, Ms. Jousse. OK? use your imagination! These are ankle shackles, keep the brothers and sisters from running away. 0K?" She was too stunnned to protest; what was happening here? "You go, bro! Zach crowed;"Slave tiime!"

Jamahl beamed his big smile up at Justine. She didn't respond at first; as he shackled her; the heavy iron handcuffs were already too restricting and painful--and scary.. Her inner demons were whispering to her:' Bound again! You idiot!" Well, hand cuffed. But---- so soon! Jamal's just doing his thing, it will be over in a moment, I'll try to be a good sport.' she thought. He clamped shut the heavy ankle chains. Ouch!~ She managed a wan smile.

"Sure, Jamal. I'll try to get into the spirit of your little demonstration. I'm a slave, right? Heading for market, prime property!"

She swayed her hips, traipsing in front of the class,wriggling

sensuously. swaying in the ankle shackles; all three male students

stirred, grinning." This was no time to be a tease., she realized--too late.

"That ain't all, slave lady! ----and you're a fine lookin' slave lady! Martin, Zach, would you bid on her? " Jamal dangled the shackles before her eyes, mockingly. The two ankle cuffs, equally rusty, equally heavy, were linked with about six inches of heavy chain. She could move, but only with tiny mincing steps, she found. This was getting out of hand. She teetered in her high heels and chains. She gulped:

"Jamal; you've made your point, I think. Our treatment of slaves was a form of bondage. Severe bondage, which I'm experiencing right now. Now, take off these cuffs; these ankle things, too; they're really uncomfortable!" Zach and Martin were still grinning, enjoying the show.

A bad feeling tickled Justine's mind; she was losing control of the class; they were all enjoying the slave lady bit way too much, even Vicki and Amy were grinning as Jamahl steered his slave around the room, gently slapping her silk clad ass. Justine stumbled with tiny steps, teetering precariously on her high heels; the hobbles forced her into an enticing, hip swaying stumbling prance; the manacles----elbows way

back----forced her her chest out, emphasizing, her jiggling breasts.Justine was pitiable in her heavy irons, but at the same time sexy, provocative in her delicious sudden helpless state.

Jamal smiled at her; was his grin now sinister, triumphant, a bit crazy? She hoped not. He reached into his back pack for the last time. "Classmates, students, this is the full matched set!" A little jewelry for our beautiful slave lady!" He held in his hands a metal collar about two inches wide, from which a six foot length of light chain dangled . Like the other manacles, this circlet of iron closed with a simple ratchet lock. Justine resisted this time as he clamped the iron collar around her neck,

grinning broadly at the class, playing the fool. The collar was wide and tight enough to force her chin up.

"Jamal; l ----! that's enough! I repeat: You've made your point. Unlock me, please."

"Right you are, teach! But just let me demonstrate how my folks got treated, for lots longer than a few minutes. You'll be my slave lady for a few more seconds, won't you?"---- that big smile---- " Wham! Magic time! Black is white and white is black! And we be goin' to market, luscious white slave, where they goin' to strip you naked so them fat black bucks can finger your ripe white bootie!."

He held the neck chain and gently tugged. "Get along, honkie, Hustle your gorgeous white ass! " As he pulled Justine she tried to follow, shuffling in the tight ankle shackles, stumbling, almost falling, feeling the insistent tug at her neck. This was no joke anymore; the class grew tense.

"C'mon, Jamal! Enough's enough'! Enough of this racist shit! Unchain her!' Quit fooling around!" they all cried out. Jamal, caught up in his own rhetoric for a second, paused, relaxed. He smiled widely to the class, then at Justine, who stood flustered in her chains.

"Sorry, folks, got a little carrried away. I'll unlock those cuffs right now; I apologize if I played the fool a little too much, and chained you up in that old rusty iron and all, Ms. Jousse, but you be a bodacious slave!

Lone key fits all them locks!." He rummaged in his back pack, casually at

first, then with a little more urgency. He searched the zipped side pockets, then stood and went through his own pockets; pants and jacket.

When he finally stood up, Jamal's grin was gone, "Damn! Damn! I---- ain't got the key! Sorry, Ms. Jousse. I must have lost it!" His consternation seemed genuine, but Justine was getting that bad 'oh oh!' feeling again. She swayed, tottered a bit in the heavy iron shackles. She thought: this can't be happening! Not after last night! and then: the key! It's always the goddamn key!

Jamal said guiltily: "I'm going to retrace my steps, every where I been today. If I need to, maybe my uncle has another key, but he lives way down in Fremont, he don't even have a phone."

"Good going, Jamal, you really fucked up this time!" said Zach."We'll figure some way to get her loose while you're gone!" Jamal mumbled an

apology to Justine once more, eyes down, and slunk out. The students

were crowded around Justine now, quickly learning that there was no short cut to release her from the collar, the anklets and the punishing handcuffs.

*

"These old mothers are solid, man!" Zach muttered as he knelt

down tugging at the ankle shackles, sneaking a few peeks upward at her dark gartered hose, her lush thighs. Martin suggested some sort of lock pick; they tried ball point pens,which snapped off in the ancient keyholes. They tried a bent wire coat hanger, no luck. Zach went down to a nearby hardware store, explained the problem to the Iranian clerk and returned in a few minutes with several skeleton keys, an Allen wrench and a thin rattail file; the rusty antique locks refused to budge.

Twenty five minutes later, Vicki announced:" I'm calling the police, they know about handcuffs." She used her cell phone. After her conversation she faced Justine sheepishly. "They said, it didn't sound like an emergency, just some college kids fooling around. They'll come check it out, but it might take--I'm sorry----five or six hours."

Justine lost it. "Five or six hours?" She screeched. "I'm going to be

locked in this fucking rusty iron for five or six fucking hours?" The students retreated a bit; this was not the warm, vulnerable mentor of a few minutes ago! Well, maybe still vulnerable. Very vulnerable, it was turning out. And very angry and a little bit afraid. She was starting to trip out again, into her weird scary but thrilling bondage mode. But the anger

was new, directed at her own foolishness, but mainly at Jamal. She

wondered if there really was a key, if he had been setting her up all along. Suddenly, she was afraid, desperate. She struggled once more in her handcuffs and shackles, futily, she knew.

The students were trying to help, but struck out; the hardware hadn't helped, the keyhole was corroded and narrowed by years of rust,

and the cops were on the way. And they had other classes; life goes on. One by one they skulked out of the classroom, murmering sheepish'

'Gotta leave----good luck'--type goodbyes. On the third floor of the Wheeler building at the end of the hall there was little chance of any visitors.

Martin had tried the hardest with the lock picking attempts, and was the most apologetic as he left. She smiled weakly at him and thanked him for his efforts. She was angry at Jamal and the tardy cops;

but her mounting rage didn't improve her plight: the wide, rough edged collar now abrading her neck, the ankle shackles and especially the iron cuffs that chafed and restricted her so. As she continued her useless

struggles, her wrists were as implacably imprisoned behind her back as

they had been two, now three hours ago since Jamal had locked them in place.

Amy had stayed with her the longest. They had shared their bondage journeys, strangely alike in so many details----the hemp rope between their legs!-- But, especially, the weird sense of surrender, even as the pain and humiliation was continuing.

"Was this a woman thing?" Justine asked Amy." Vicki wanted to be the victim. Am I? are you? Are we really saying that this proud feminist manifesto is really a lot of bullshit? Do we want to be enslaved? As I am now." Justine stirred ruefully, angrily in her iron restraints. Neither she nor Amy had pat answers to her questions.

Amy's cell phone rang. Her eyes widened as she listened."Hai. Hai", she said, and turned to Justine. "My father.They've taken him to the hospital, maybe a heart attack. I've got to go. I"m sure the police will be here soon; you'll be fine." She hugged Justine briefly, but intensely; Justine said softly, "Your uncle. Do you have his number? Maybe, probably not, but, just maybe---- I might want to---- talk to him. To help me understand all this; what happened to us both.."

Amy's eyes narrowed; she nodded, gravely: "I think he is a bad man, not for you. Bad idea, Ms. Jousse; forget it. I have to go now. good luck" Then she was gone.

FIVE

NIGHTMARE

Justine was alone; another two hours had passed; she couldn't see her wrist watch, but the sun was starting to set over the bay. She had to pee again. The first time, she had shuffled over to the wastebasket, squatted on the rim, and urinated, unable to pull down her panties, of course. The infinite, tiny humilations of shackled helplessness.

Her practical, sometimes scolding voice was fully in charge now:' 'How could you let him handcuff you like that! He' s not coming back, you know it. He lost the key, that's all. or maybe he never had it in the first place! That winning smile, that confusion when he couldn't find the key, play acting?" Justine didn't want to hear these suspicions, but as time passed, and her manacles become even more uncomfotable, (she thought her wrists were bleeding now, from the rough edged cuffs.) her mood grew darker and darker. There was no way to escape her lousy predicament, but she tried to fantasize: maybe a gorgeous captive in a prince's dungeon, still in these fucking chains, of course. She closed her eyes and tried to fantasize; it didn't work too well. The cruel chains in her worst imagination were no more painful than her real punishing shackles.

*

Time passed so slowly! Then she heard footsteps down the hall in

the almost empty building, Finally! the police!. The door opened. A black

man entered. A very large black man, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and baggy droopy pants over his expensive sneakers. He looks like a very sullen, very evil Shaquille ONeal, she thought. Undercover, he's got to be an undercover cop, but why not a uniformed officer?

He surveyed her predicament and smiled lazily. "Whoo-hoo! What has we got here? A white bitch in slave irons? Jamal mentioned you and

your little problem, and where you was after I whopped him a few times,

let's say. I'm not his uncle, but a friend of a friend of his uncle."

As he approached her, Justine screamed, as loud she could; there was nothing else to do. But after her first piercing scream, he was on top of her, his big hand over her mouth. "No more fucking noise, bitch." He took a dirty handkerchief out of his pocket and laughed out loud, showing two missing teeth and one gold one.' ID details after he rapes me?' --just another distracted thought. He crooked his thick forefubger and lazily tore open her black short dress, Her breasts flopped free as she strained,uselessly against the restraining cuffs.. She thrashed her head around and fought as he tried to gag her. The easiest way was the best; he pinched her nostrils together, and when she finally had to breathe, pushed the cloth into her gasping mouth behind her teeth and secured it, grinning. Then he spotted the ball gag.

"Well, well! The Lord do provide, don't he? All this kinky bondage shit around, What kind of university you runnin' here?"

Choking. drooling. Justine thought: 'three times I end up with this fucking gag in my mouth! Hugo, last night, and now! Is someone trying to send me a stupidity message?'

The big man gave her little time to castigate herself. He hoisted her

upright, holding her shoulders, then ripped away her dress. and moments later her bra and panties. He held her at arms length and grinned again.

"Well now! Ain't you something! White pussy in slave chains! I purely love it. You can keep on that fancy garter shit; ain't gonna get in my way! Let,'s turn you around, get a good look at that J-Lo bootie! Whoa! someone already been whalin' your sweet ass!" He had spotted the slashing signature of Hugo's cane work.

Justine looked at him , pleading with her eyes, perhaps, though she expected no mercy. If only she could talk to him, to make some sort of a deal;----money, maybe----, but the gag ruled that out. She was not surprised when he bent her over her desk, gripped her buttocks, and spat on her anal cleft, lubricating her. He teased her first; and then forced two big fingers into his puckered target. It hurt! She screamed, almost silently, muffled by the gag. She heard him unzip his pants and then felt the thrust of his huge, insistent cock as he penetrated her. He fucked her

in the ass for perhaps five minutes; her muffled sobs and shrieks had subsided to a few moans.

Justine was not a total stranger to anal sex, during her hippie years, she had.----never mind----but that was at least seven years ago, and this monster was so big!

*

When she thought she could tolerate no more rectal punishment, he turned his attention lower, and lunged into her cunt with a vigor she had never experienced before; deeper and deeper, like a tidal wave, some kind of evil natural force, she thought, as he plowed her increasingly swollen,wet pussy. Justine couldn't stop her body's

response; her inner vaginal muscles contracted, squeezing his giant shaft, relaxed and squeezed again. Her brutal rapist felt her throbbing deep squeezes and exulted:

"You white professor bitch, You gonna submit to this black cock! Oh yeah! Now you comin', can't help it, comin' over and over again!"

She was, and there was nothing she could do about it. Her own body had betrayed her. Again. Maybe that was what this whole sick bondage thing was about; getting her intellect out of the way until the inevitable degradation, torture, rape, got a chance to turn her into a quivering, pussy.

He finished wirh an explosive climax; when he withdrew, jism ran down her thighs. "You somethin' else, bitch! I could give this room number to some of my homies, but I won't, Cops be here soon, anyhow; they be slow, though. I want to be sure you stay right here, don't wander out onto the streets of Berkeley, find yourself in some real shit! Let me see that chain on your big old nasty collar!"

He bent her further over the desk, the iron clanking against the wood. He made a loose knot in the chain end, opened her lowest desk drawer and closed it, trapping the knotted chain inside. She was tethered now, her breasts flattened, her face forced down against the wooden desktop; she could scarcely move. He finished, gave her butt an affectionate slap and said "Ain't gonna leave my name, but I do expect to

meet up with you again, Goodnight, bitch!."

Night fell. Justine, depressed, furious, self-loathing as usual these days, remained slumped over the desk, neck held tightly by the knotted collar chain wedged in her desk drawer. Her brutally violated bottom throbbed: minutes after her memorable fuck she was still in heat; both channels dripping sperm and her own copious secretions.

She had had at least five shattering orgasms with a rapist, a man who stood for everything she despised. And yet, there it was; she had been truly fucked, ankles chained, her collar more than uncomfortable now, flattening her on the cooling desk, the diabolic gag in her mouth,

and finally the cruel, rusty manacles that had held her prisoner for nearly

seven hours now. All this, and she had climaxed anyway. Could she ever sink lower?

FIVE

LAW AND ORDER

Finally the police arrived. The first uniformed patolman opened the class room door, turned on the light, and gaped at the gorgeous nude woman bent over the desk trying to mumble some sort of plea as he entered; then he saw the gag. And the chain holding the clumsy neck collar to the desk. And the heavy handcuffs that twisted her arms behind her back, and her awesome upthrust ass streaked with some sort of whip marks, and her dripping cunt, framed by an improbable garter belt, dark silk hose and shiny black highheeled pumps----and ankle shackles, too. Jesus Christ!

Officer Sanchez gulped; he'd never seen anything like this before in his five years on the force--or in his dreams. 'Something way too kinky for me here', he thought, 'better call the detectives and touch nothing in the meantime, not the gag, not even that sensational ass!' He tried to

explain to the miserable woman that this was clearly a big time crime

scene, and he couldnt mess it up, not even the gag; "Sorry, maam." Justines eyes narrowed in futile rage.

Twenty minutes later, the detectives arrived; finally Justine was

ungagged and poured out her story, croaking from the long gagging ordeal, even after several welcome glasses of water. Almost incoherently, at first, raving:" I've been raped. don't you understand? Just get me out of these fucking handcuffs!."

Krause, the fatter detective nodded, trying to project a professional face. Inwardly, he was exited, horny. 'What an ass! what tits! those fucking handcuffs! I love it!'

"Yes ma'am. But first we gotta get you down to the station, check all that iron stuff for fingerprints, evidence. We have to do the rape exam first, it's the rules. Sorry if you're a little bit uncomfortable, but we'll get the bastard who did this!" He patted her ass, reassuringly, he thought. Justine thought otherwise; his kindly pats and gropes lasted a little too long,

He made a call on his cell phone; in a few minutes she was transferred by ambulance ( the two EMTs delighting in their nude cuffed and furious passenger) to Merritt Hospital for the standard rape follow up: sperm samples for DNA, pelvic exam,----"wow! he must have been big!" the examining nurse offered---- blood tests for HIV and other STDs, desultory medical counselling from a bored intern.

By now, Justine had moved from thankful to numb acceptance:- gotta go with the system, right?---- to citizen's outrage. " Hey! get these chains and cuffs off! I pay taxes, too!" Sore and aching from her metal tormentors, she was grumbling audibly now as she was tranferred by police car back to the station.

If the truth be told, the night personnel at the College Avenue station usually had a dull shift. This naked, gorgeous UC professor all chained up was clearly going to be the highlight of the night! (The chief had called; "Some government big shot is going to check out the iron hardware she was imprisoned in; Don't fiddle with the locks or anything til I get there. And I'll be right over. I've got to see this!')

Justine was now writhing on the gurney, bad mouthing the mayor, the city council, the police force (never a good idea when you're in

custody). They had taken her garter belt and stockings at the hospital,

muttering something about evidence; now she was totally bare except for her high heels, and a short paper hospital gown, tied at the back

and draped over her breasts, (cuffed, she couldn't use the sleeves), but open in back to the night breezes. Back at the station, the detectives

had set her on a gurney in the hall and abandoned her. That was ten minutes ago!

"Get these fucking iron shackles off me! Get a locksmith, someone, you miserable bastards!" Justine fumed as a unusual number of cops stopped by to enjoy her helpless nudity, Someone had pulled back the sheet on her gurney and she was nearly fully exposed again.

Justine was at rock bottom emotionally; her day had been--and continued to be--so traumatic that she was drained of emotional energy, devoid of any self respect; she was just surviving. Philosophical discussions about the deeper meaning of bondage and discipline? Fuck it. She was still here, real time, in the miserable present, cuffed and chained, with her chafing neck collar, pawed over by numerous cops.

They all assured her that the locksmith was on his way, then rolled her over on her stomach to examine the antique hand cuffs, And, incidentally, her bruised ass, exchanging professional opinions as they stroked the purple welts left by the cane: "Three, maybe four days old," said Chet.

"No, more like seven or eight, look at that discoloration." "Dog whip, maybe. Whaddaya think, Ramon? " "Not sure. let me feel her one more time".

'Serious whipping, man--maybe a cane."

"Serious ass, too. Awesome! Here, take anothr feel! Excuse us, ma'am. Just investigating." He bent Justine over for a closer look . She whimpered as the cops prodded her welted ass.

.*

She was sitting up on the gurney now; it was too painful to lie on

her cuffed hands.. A considerate orderly had covered her lap with a skimpy towel; her thighs were still fully exposed to any passing cop----and there were lots of them. One of the hired staff (not the guy that had molested her, thank God) had fed her some macaroni and cheese, spoonful by spoonful.

Justine was grateful, and said so, and began to ponder again the

big issue of helplessness and power, She was in the acknowledged center of legitimate power; the police station, Yet, she had been felt up several times, subjected to a demeaning rape examination (the doctor was cold, dismissive) and perhaps worst, her beauty, her secret pride in

her body, had been violated and tarnished with every passing minute of

raw, naked exposure, like a piece of meat!---- And still, no locksmith, no relief from these intolerable cuffs. She slumped into a hopeless crouch.

*

Finally, a group of civilians arrived. The first one, a slighly overweight middle aged man, spoke first. 'Why don't they cover my tits!'

Justine thought, (the paper gown had torn during one of the 'evidence inspections") As he spoke, his gaze strayed inevitably to her breasts.

"Ms.--Professor. I'm the registered locksmith. These irons, these

antique irons---- God, that old blacksmith knew his trade!-- can not really be unlocked without destroying them. I sympathize with your plight, but...."

A little self-important man stepped forward. Tight lips. tight narrow shoulders, encased in his dark suit, primly knotted tie. One glance told Justine all she needed to know: more trouble!

"I am Grover Brigham. The president's special envoy for antiquities; I decide what goes to the Smithsonian, and what goes on E bay instead. I intend to examine your restaints. Would you stand, please." Justine swung her chained ankles over the side of the gurney, reluntantly. As she stood, the sheet and towel fell away; she stood there, totally nude, bare assed again. She was now almost numb to further exposure and humiliation.

*

Brigham took almost no notice of her naked attributes. He was down on the floor with his magnifying glass, fondling and stroking the rough old iron surfaces; he seemed hardly to notice her abraded wrists, her hands now swollen from so many hours of constriction, the deep scratches on her neck from the collar or even the lurid healing welts on

her bottom from the caneing as he scrutinized the anklets, the collar, moving her pinioned wrists rudely, continuing his survey.

"Turn around, please; I need more light to examine these wonderful manacles." The crowd got even more excited when they saw the raised welts across her full buttocks; Brigham seened not to notice, but slid one hand under her right asscheek pretending to stabilize her as he peered at the cuffs. Justine barely winced as he squeezed. 'One more violation, one more indignity--what did it matter anymore? Just let this asshole hurry up and get all this rusty iron off me!' He checked the collar and the anklets again, with growing excitement. Finally he straightened and pronounced:

*

"Gentlemen,we have here an unique find! Unless I am mistaken----and I'm usually not---these artifacts date to 1843, Georgia. They may be the very slave irons tha† sparked the Nat Turner rebellion! I

don't know how a black garbage man from Oakland got hold of these, but that really makes no differance. They are priceless! I will not----cannot!---- allow you to detroy them. Let me be clear. No hacksaws, no cutting

torches. Surely we can make an appropriate key. Until then----" he turned to Justine, for the first time recognizing her as a human being, a gorgeous naked longsuffering human being, and not just the unwilling custodian and victim of his rusty iron treasures.

"Young lady. I'm sorry. But we cannot allow these artifacts to be tampered with, perhaps detroyed by some clumsy locksmith. Surely in a day or two, a key to these locks can be constructed. In the meantime, just bear up! With your small sacrifice, you are helping preserve the rich heritage of America!"

It sounded like a speech; it was. He turned to the crowd of politlcos and police and notables----a raped and chained gorgeous college professor, particularly from UC, and totally naked to boot----now that's going to draw a crowd!

And the reporters were there, crowding, jostling in the narrow corridor, chasing this latest sensation; Michael Jackson was already yesterday's news----many a wannabe lensman, photographing Justine's

frank nudity, slavered. The oldest most cynical one thought to himself:

' A hot brunette, sultry, dynamite tits, and a cute twat; what's not to like? Plus, she's handcuffed, helpless, clearly a damsel in distress Maybe my shots will be too raw for the six oclock news, but they sure will stay in my personal files and probably on my website----bondage blog----how about that for a title?'. Sol Levin told himself as he slipped through the crowd, finally kneeling between her legs, going for low level shots of Justine, now totally dejected, slumped against the gurney; her head would have been bowed, sunk with despair but the wide cruel iron collar continued to force her head up; she could only avoid her current violators, this leering, picture-snapping mob, by closing her eyes. Arms tightly chained behind her back for how many hours now?

Sol was too excited to spare her much sympathy---- But that cold prissy expert from the government, the one who had just condemned her

to another day in strict bondage----what a prick he was! Besides, he had been feeling her up while he pretended to inspect the antique iron, Sol was sure.

*

He focussed and filmed; from below, her lush dark fringed cunt, still moist from the rape and subsequent exam, her proud breasts, accentuated by the tight bondage imposed by the now suddenly important antique cuffs as she slumped in defeat and despair. He got one good shot of the restraints that had led to all this excitement (and a sensational photo op!) He sensed that this story was really about the handcuffs.

Even as he filmed at changed foci, angles, trying to get the essence of this despairing, depressed, but still proud and angry woman. Yes! this

was his big opportunity! He reached out and tugged the chain between her ankle shackles; she stumbled, tottered, and looked down at him, a crouching, grinning litle creep!, her face a blend of despair and outrage she she twisted the heavy cuffs.. Click! He had gotten the money shot, he was sure of it! He was right; his photo of her hands in the cruel shackles, locked painfully against her bruised ass, made the cover of People Magazine.

* The entirety of this website, including all graphics, images, 2d & 3d Art, & video are Copyright © 2002-2006 by boundNdetermined and/or the photographer. All rights reserved. The contents of this site may not be copied or reproduced without prior written consent.

BACKMembThe entirety of this website, including all graphics, images, 2d & 3d Art, & video are Copyright © 2002-2006 by boundNdetermined and/or the photographer. All rights reserved. The contents of this site may not be copied or reproduced without prior written

SIX

AFTERMATH

Six months later, the furor over the chained professor story was subsiding (OJ and Monica had lasted longer), but the internet still was flooded with web sites, full of uncensored photos of Justine on that first night, cuffed, shackled, collared, nude, screaming at the prim Bingham as he postponed the release from her bondage yet another day.

Sol Levin's site was especially juicy; his multiple angle, intimate

shots, some of which captured Justine's many moods that night: despairing, proud, angry, as well as her lush body, generous buttocks with the sensational whip marks, her thrusting breasts, her provocative curly bush, the brutal rusty hardware, of course, but maybe, most telling, her beautiful suffering face; Sol had captured all of that better than anyone else. World wide, men (and not a few women) salivated over his exploitational, but ultimately loving tribute to Justine's ordeal.

Bingham had not fared as well. When the government technicians had finaly freed Justine, using rust removing solvents, MRI scans, and finally a meticulously recreated handcuff key. the lab analyses proved that the trio of old slave irons was a forgery, made maybe in the 1920's.

An expert can make an error, but not in the glare of sensational media coverage: The president fired him; saying:"Heck of a job, Bingham?"

Jamal had disappeared. He never returned to campus. Eager reporters never found him, or his uncle. The Berkeley police didn't find Justine's rapist, but four months later, a big man was cought after an attempted robbery; he had cut his arm breaking into a hardware store.

His routine DNA matched the samples from Justine's vaginal swabs;. Officer Sanchez tried to notify Justine; he met a dead end.

" Professor Jousse is no longer employed here ," a university spokesman informed him ."I believe she has resigned her post. No, I have no forwarding address."

"Shit! She was so beautiful, so classy! I wanted to let her know we finally got the bastard!" he told himself.

Zach sold his class movie to a porno video distributor. He made just a few thousand dollars but that was enough incentive for him to abandon his rap artist aspirations and plan to make more videos, maybe one based on Justine's ordeal; now that could be a blockbuster!

*************

Justine had left the university, had left Berkeley . The initial noteriety had been intolerable; she was beseiged by, called and harassed by, hundreds of media people, offering film contracts, TV appearances.----Oprah wanted her---- commercial endorsements, every sensation freak and bondage deviant in the country, it seemed----she changed her phone number, shut down her internet address, to little avail. The despicable department head, Peltz, had suggested a leave of absence, with pay, of course, and suggesed she give no interviews----"for the good of the department's reputation, of course. I'm sure you understand." She understood; they wanted her gone. She had obliged, stalked out his office, and dropped out of sight.

Justine had a small apartment in Portland, Oregon now; downtown, not far from Powell's bookstore. After two months of inner turmoil, trying to sort out her life; long walks, trying not to drink too much, she had found work. She was now a consultant for Top to Bottom, a company that manufactured and sold a line of sex toys and equipment. Her employer, Merle, had recognized her at the first job interview, despite the name change; she was now Joanne Justin, as in just in time. "You're the famous kinky nude professor, aren't you?" Merle had asked at their initial meeting. Justine--now Joanne---- got up to go.

"No, stay. I think you can help us a lot, as a consultant. Your psych background, your own personal experiences----it must have been awful!----we can use you, I'm sure. And, your identity is safe with me; and my partners. And the salary is good." She had a warm smile. "We take care of our own, believe me."

So Justine had a new career----maybe. Her consulting job was

legitimate; she sat in on the sessions designing new product lines of vibrators, sexually enhancing ointments and lubricants, other sex toys, and of course, every variety of bondage and discipline gear; harnesses, whips, paddles, nipple clips----everything.

Merle had explained; "You are the voice of the first time consumer , the curious novice, OK? We want our products to be non threatening--at first. What turned you on, when and how? That's what we need, we're all hardened bondage freaks here."

Merle was about thirty four, Justine estimated, a strawberry blonde, not too tall, with a rosy complexion and a not yet plump figure----think Renior---- and a sweet face, which belied her dry wit and intelligence.. She was a lesbian; she made that clear to Justine even as they began their friendship in the next few weeks. But when it came to the company, she was all business. Soon she hinted, then suggested, that Justine try out some of the new----and old products. "Your gut reaction, that's what we would like."

Justine had accepted the offer; she was still trying to come to grips with her attraction--repulsion feelings about the whole bondage scene;

surely this would be a safe kind of way to get over the trauma of that Berkeley classroom! But she set some limits, to which Merle agreed: no dildos, and, please, no handcuffs! at least not for now!

So, her life was quiet, a bit lonely; Amy was the only person from her past who had her phone number, her new name. They would call each other from time to time, comparing notes; Amy returned only once to Uncle Hitoro.---- "Never again!" she told Justine--and had left home and was now living with a caucasion pre-med student, Leo. And life was good. They sometimes mused over the eerie parallels of their first

bondage sessions. Justine hadn't told Amy about her new job.

Her new job. Her relationshop with Merle was getting closer; though there was no overt intimacy, she sensed the older woman's caring. Merle shared her uneven, even dramatic life with Justine, unbidden. Her disastrous marriage, her coming out as a lesbian, the career changes, the traumas---- this sweet faced business lady had seen it all. And as they deepened their friendship: little theater nights together, some obscure but very good restaurants, an overnight trip to Mount St. Helens, just a few miles north in Washington; Justine warmed to the contact. But she still needed her privacy, her slow recovery.

A few months later Merle suggested that Justine start modelling some of the merchandise for her on line catalogue, "You've got a wonderful body, which of course you know,if I may say so: a really sexy picture is worth, like they say, a thousand words----in our case, a thousand orders. We would never show your face; there's no chance of the media parasites catching up with you. And there's a bonus; modeling fees. Think it over."

Justine--Joanne agreed. Leery at first, she soon warmed to the project: Waldo, the harnessmaker and she hit it off from the start as he measured her for the intricate leather harnesses and restraints she was to model. He was gay; otherwise Justine would have never consented to his skillful intimate hands on her naked body.

The leather gear, the cuffs, the corsets, the straps, were enticing; Justine had tried on a few, and felt very much at home in the intricate buckles and belts. She squirmed as he tightened the strap that bisected her vaginal lips. That old quiver, that old arousal was returnuing. "Oh! Ooh~! Maybe just a bit more--snug. Yess!"~ Waldo grinned as he pu8lled the strap even tighter.

*A few days later, nude under the bright studio lights, she worked with Waldo and the woman--Christine-- who was harnessing her and her camera man. "Don't show my face; remember!" she said, as Christine tightened and buckled the provocative harness.

*

"So" she told herself, writhing sensuousy in the tight leather harness----tight, but, somehow, embracing, comforting------"So 'she said to herself again . wriggling just a bit against the broad strap between her thighs, feeling for the second time in months the subtle deep pelvic warmth, the beginning wetness, "life goes on."

During the demading photo session, squirming under the hot lights, sweating against her leather harness, Justine began to feel some of the same urges that she had so vehemently suppressed the last few months.

As Christine unbuckled her straps, she said, almost shyly: "Waldo, Christine. We might try that corset now, the one with the----you know,

the fancy cuffs. And the ankle shackles, too." later, as they tightened the corset, buckled her into the cuffs and upper arm straps, the bondage stringent, fetishist, Justine felt strangely----serene.

One pose, one set of cuffs and retraints, another corset, laced tight... led to another, and another. In the next two hours Justine had posed for the bulk of the pictorials for the new catalog. And was enjoying it, swaying in her cuffs and restraints. including a severe single glove.. Even as it tugged her elbows together, painfully so, she gave into the absolute helpness the device gave her, and squirmed seductively.

*

At the rear of the studio, Merle was exultant. The luscious absolutely perfect bondage model she had hoped to find ever since Justine had walked in for that first interview! At last she was ready for the corset, the cuffs, chains and shac kles--once again *

THE END