Tables Turned
by Jade Blackmore Copyright 2003 From Seduced and Abandoned and Other Erotic Tales
No one recognized him, and that comforted him. Kevin was a private person despite his chosen profession. After all, there were thousands of musicians in touring bands and only a handful by margins were known to anyone outside a small circle of fans and business associates. Sure, when he was younger he had dreams of constant adulation. He had those experiences when he was young, and though he didn't mind them; he was glad when the interviews and the bright lights
ceased. There was only one part of the non-music experience he indulged in, and that was women. He'd had all kinds
through the years, had settled on different types for blow jobs after the show, one-night stands, affairs, and that most horrid
of words, relationship.
Since his touring days were coming to an end, he bought a house in West. L.A. Four bedrooms, three and a half baths
and a guesthouse. A little too big for him and his on-again, off-again girlfriend, but there were always friends and
groupies hanging out after nights on the town. And there was always the possibility of making a few extra bucks from
renting out rooms or the guesthouse.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you. There's a renter in the guesthouse."
"Then kick him out."
"It's a 'her' and she's got a two year lease."
Kevin looked up and shifted in his chair. "Really? What's she look like?"
"A cute blonde, about 25." Kevin's dark brown eyes widened.
Then Jake continued the description.
"She's a writer—academic papers and stuff. I dunno. Always at her computer."
"Well, she still has to leave. Don't worry, I'll get her to leave on her own."
"Yeah, right I bet if she was a stripper you wouldn't be asking her to leave."
Kevin balked. "Give me some credit, man."
"Sorry, just trying to make a joke." Jake closed his leather portfolio. "Well, you do what you want—but that extra $1500
a month is nothing to sneeze at. It'll pay for a few dinners at the Red Room, that's for sure."
* * * *
Kevin saw the candle. Ahh, there was a fire violation, maybe.
He knocked on the door as he got closer he heard the rock
station playing AC/DC. The door opened a crack.
"Who is it?"
She sounded young, frightened, sweet. In a white T-shirt and jeans, she answered the door. Her long blonde hair
disheveled but freshly washed, smelled of baby shampoo.
He wanted to take her right there, but controlled himself.
"I'm Kevin, your new landlord."
"New landlord? The Sanders sold the house?" she gasped, but then steadied herself.
"I thought they were just visiting Europe for a few months. I thought they were coming back in December." She tried to
mask her worry, but it crackled through her breathy voice.
"Oh, I'm sorry." Kevin put his hand on her shoulder. "You know, the real estate agent didn't even tell me your name."
"Kathy. Kathy Randall," she said, nervously twirling a strand of wet hair around her finger.
"I hope it's all right if I talk to you for awhile," Kevin said, walking into the cluttered, dimly lit guesthouse. He took a
copy of the L.A. Weekly off a red velvet chair, put it on the floor, and sat down.
"I didn't mean to alarm you," Kevin smiled wryly. "I'm subleasing the house while the Sanders are away."
"Oh," she smiled, a barely audible sigh of relief registering in her voice.
"C'mere, sit next to me," Kevin said. He pulled the Sanders' other velvet chair next to the one he sat on. "Let's
talk."
Obviously, she hadn't been expecting visitors. The floor was littered with books and papers. A half-eaten tin of
Chinese food was wedged up next to her computer monitor. She hesitated briefly, then sat down next to him, bunching
up her knees so her legs wouldn't touch his chair.
"I'm going to be here for six months, and I wanted to use this as a guesthouse for my visitors. I have a lot of European
friends who do business in L.A."
"Oh, I see." He looked straight at her, but she stared at the floor.
"The Sanders didn't tell me there was someone living here." He explained. "The agent just told me."
"I have a lease," Kathy said, perking up, "I have a copy around here somewhere."
"That's ok. I'm sure you have one and it's all legal." Kevin touched her hand. A pinprick of electricity jumped from her
skin to his. He swore he saw her nipples stiffen underneath her pale T-shirt.
"I know a few real estate people. I can make a few calls, cut you a deal. I'll pay for your move and maybe 2-3 months
rent. It'll be a nice place. One you like, of course."
She looked up at him, so desperate, like one of those painting of kids with big, sad eyes.
"Well I like it here, but I suppose if the place was clean and safe ... If you would pay the first few months that would
be good. I don't make a lot of money." Her face was too sweet; a round, easy target.
"I don't want to hurt you, Gina," She smiled when he said her name. ?You seem very set on staying here. Maybe I'll
rearrange my plans and you can stay. I'll work on it."
He rubbed her shoulder, and more electric currents seemed to shoot from her body to his.
"I'll let you finish your dinner," he said. "You know, if you ever want something special from the kitchen, just call me.
The Sanders' cook is still here every day but Sunday."
"Oh, thank you," she replied softly, "That's so kind of you."
"It's no problem. No problem at all." He winked at her, and rose from the chair, acutely aware of the way she stared at
his jean-clad ass. "I'll see you later," he winked. "Have a good night," she said, her voice an inadvertent
squeak as she closed the door behind him. He stayed up 'til dawn. When he came home from the
club, usually three or four in the morning, his friends jammed and entertained female guests. While they were playing strip
poker with some models from the Sky bar he walked to the far window and saw her alone at the computer, in a skimpy
nightie. He was fascinated by the silhouette of this lovely, young creature. What the chirpy strippers had been unable to
do this girl had without meaning to. Kevin rummaged through the mail his assistant had left on the kitchen table. Thank God Sara was so forgetful. He had to
have some kind of non-amorous excuse to go out to her. He glanced at the bulky magazine-sized envelope and the letter
addressed to Kathy Randall.
He knew the return address very well. It was a sex mag publisher in Manhattan. Some of the girls at his club had posed for it. He smiled to himself. Academic
papers, huh? Maybe she was too coy to pose for the magazines, but writing for them? He had checked the rental application she had filled out, and her employer was listed as Wittinger Publishing. Her occupation: Writer. It sounded academic to the uninitiated, but he knew they were notorious publishers of bondage books and magazines. Academic scholar, huh? That's what she wanted them to think. Pornographer wouldn't exactly get her name on a lease in the better part of town. He had called the publisher to check on her. Her pen name was Kathy Kystral.
Kevin was very familiar with their publications. And unlike many men, he did read the stories.
Kevin walked down the strobe lit pathway to the guesthouse and knocked on the door.
"Gina, it's Kevin, your landlord. I saw your light on and wanted to see if you were okay."
She opened the door, bleary eyed but coherent. The straps of her turquoise blue baby doll fell on her suntanned
shoulders on cue.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company."
"That's all right. I'm alone. I ... aaa ... was just getting ready for bed."
"I'm ok." She gestured toward her computer. "I'm working on a paper. It's really a headache."
She said it was about some philosopher. Kevin halflistened to her but stared at the shape of her body beneath
her thin silk baby doll. Unfortunately, she was wearing panties.
"Here, I have your mail. Sara forgot to bring it round this morning."
"Oh thank you. I was expecting a check." Kathy grabbed the envelopes out of Kevin's hand like a starving woman after food.
Kevin watched her, careful not to let his amusement turn to laughter. It was funny watching her stash the brown- wrapped
copy of "Bondage Girls" inside one of her college textbooks.
"So," Kevin started, "I'd love to see one of your ... papers. You work so hard on them. You know," he said, testing her
once again, "one of my friends has wonderful place on a quiet block in Beverly Hills. I could have you moved in by the end
of the week. I'll show you the place tomorrow."
"It sounds nice sure. Sure, I'll look at it." She said meekly, eyes downcast. "But I'd rather stay here."
Kevin moved toward her and kissed her. "You could stay here if the circumstances are right." He slid a finger across
her wrist. Such tiny wrists. Kevin looked across the room. A dresser drawer in her bedroom was half open. A haphazard collection of scarves and
jewelry were strewn about inside, as though they had been recently used and tossed hurriedly in the drawer.
"Are these your scarves? They are nice—real silk, just like your nightie."
He looked at her double bed.
"That's a nice bed. Your boyfriend must like it."
"I don't have a boyfriend."
"Girlfriend?"
"No," she answered coyly, "That's not my thing."
"That's a shame. You don't have anyone?" He took her
wrist in his hand and lead her to the bed. "Your baby doll is
pretty, but I don't think you need it." He took a step closer to
her. "Take it off."
He kissed her forehead. "It's OK. I know about your stories. I've read many of them—long before you moved
here. You might say I'm a fan."
"Are you..." She croaked out the words, frightened, then looked him in the eyes. Her body eased, her fear dissipated.
She let her baby doll slide off her hips, and it crumpled on the floor in choreographed perfection. Eagerly, she started for the
bed, but Kevin slipped his arms around her waist and placed her on the mattress.
"You don't remember, do you?" he said, "It must have been one of your first stories. You let me know if you want
me to stop and I will," he whispered. He guided her other wrist post and tied it he took her robe off, sweet thing.
"Now, what is this?" Kevin picked up the magazine, knowing what awaited him but keeping the neutral look on his
face. "Why look at this. You must be psychic. Your dreams have come true. Isn't that why you stay here?" He kissed her
gently, on the forehead, his tongue flicking faintly at the thin veneer of perspiration there.
"You're going to leave me like this?" Kathy moaned. "What if I need to go to the bathroom?"
"The knots aren't tight at all. You can ease your way out of them if you need to," Kevin assured her.
He watched as she struggled wordlessly to free herself. As aroused as he was he had to control himself. Maybe he'd beat
off later, or relieve his tension with one of the strippers. If he let her have him too soon it wouldn't be challenging for him.
It felt delicious to drive her crazy. She would do absolutely anything for him, to make him happy. He could tell she was
not a diva. He had too much of that. She was the opposite; pliable and bristling with desire, but unscathed by too much activity.
Putty in his hands.
Kathy freed herself from one scarf and concentrated on the other, finally giving up when the knot proved too tight.
"I'd rather stay here." She surrendered with a beatific smile, "And do whatever you want me to."
"Now, babe, I think you have it," he kissed her on the forehead
"I will stop by tomorrow—with a friend."
The next night, he rapped on the door with one short commanding knock.
"Are you ready?"
"Ready for?" Her eyes lit up.
"To go to Beverly Hills."
"I don't want to go there. Can't I stay here, Kevin?"
"Oh, my sexy little slave, there are no names here."
Her eyes sparkled. "Master," she whispered reverently.
The glow from the candle by the bed made her look like a candied devil.
As she spoke and savored the word, her nipples turned hard and the rest of her body opened to him, wet and pliable.
"You are a very talented little slave, you know that? Not only do you write well, you can perform as well as you write."
"They are your own fantasies, I bet," he stated, tugging at her hair 'til she gave a little squeak of pseudo-pain.
"No, they are not I just make them up. They are stories."
"And you would never turn them into reality if you had the chance?" Kevin slipped off his T-shirt. In his body he felt her
vibrations, the fear and unquenchable, unmet desire. His gaze studied her breasts, but he did not touch them. He took
nipple clamps from his case and pinned them onto her, watching her back off in fear as he grated and twisted them
onto her nipples. He savored the process, enjoying the look of ecstasy and fear interspersed on her face.
"What do you say?"
"Thank you, master."
"That's a good slave."
He pinned the other clamp.
"Yes, aah," she shuddered in pleasure, but he quieted her with his hand over her mouth. He laughed at his handiwork,
satisfied at the sudden look of fear lighting her eyes.He unzipped her short skirt. She wore no panties and had
shaved herself clean. Kevin moved her by the bed again, parted her legs, sweet and clean. One swift touch of his hand
sent convulsions through her body. He fed off her energy.
"You see, this is mine," he fingered her, "to do with as I please. Understand?"
"Yes."
He had a chain he had bought in Bangkok in '89, but had promised himself he would only use it on one woman. The
right woman. Like the Story of O, he could not bring himself to pierce her flesh. He attached it to her clit. "I will have it
attached permanently once you have proven your worth."
"You like this?" He pulled her hair with just the right amount of force and tenderness. He smiled at her reaction.
"Here. You do have the sweetest voice, but you have to be quiet for now." He tied the ball gag in her mouth, then
positioned her on her knees on the floor. Her hands were next. He tied them in fur—real fur straps. "Aha, you look
beautiful—no—a sight to behold." He knelt down in front of her and unzipped his pants.
"See, you get to look, but you don't get to touch."
"A-ha I knew you had some oil." He lotioned his cock, kneeling in the light of the scarf covered lamp. He spread his
legs slightly so that she would get a good view.
"Now watch," he looked at her. Yes, she looked in the mirror watching him and her reaction to him. She didn't know
where to look—at the whole picture or at his cock he moved closer—yeah, slick sound of hand pressing against his cock
shaft and the result of his desire spreading over her stomach,dropping over her thighs and pussy. Gina could only show her
gratitude by licking her lips. He stared at her, then kissed her lips and patted her ass. He walked to the bathroom to wash
himself, but left her tied to the post, cum dripping down her legs.
He sat on the bed playing guitar, every once in awhile glancing at her 'til she fell asleep then he carefully removed
her gear and carried her to bed, but he did not wash her off. His cum had to sink deep into her pores overnight. That was
the first step to controlling her. She had even written as much in her story. After all, he was just doing what she wanted. He left a rose next to her on
the pillow and left. The next night Kathy greeted him at the door and smothered him with kisses. Her smile soon turned to
confusion when his friend Ted followed him in.
"I want..."
"We know what you want my dear little authoress. 'Melissa in the Middle,' you remember that in 'Valentine Girls.' How
much did they pay you for that? A hundred bucks? Boy, you really have to crank 'em out to pay the rent." Kevin sat on the
bed next to her, sliding his hands up and down her bare thighs. She closed her eyes and moaned in appreciation.
Ted's shorts were already on the floor. "C'mere," he sauntered over to the bed and lifted her T-shirt over her
shoulders.
"Let's do it on the bed." Ted fingered her. "Hey she's a hot little thing. No, not yet," he tossed her on the bed and
covered her and the bed with oil, fingered her with lubricant 'til even the bedsheets were dowsed.
"Pleasure me. You know what to do." Kevin pointed at his cock, and she obeyed.
But she was taking too much pleasure in it. Where was the fear?
Ted watched as Kevin fucked her, studying them like a true voyeur.
He took a digital camera and aimed it at them.
Kevin swatted it away.
"Not now. Not with her," Kevin hissed. "Put it away."
The nipple clamps twitched against her skin but aroused her more than frightened her. She had revered Kevin when
he was alone. Now that he had a partner in crime to assist him he became an object of fear, someone to be conquered.
The men took strength from each other and they poked and prodded at her body as though she had no feeling. It had
been years since she wrote the story. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the ending.
Kevin took her, straddling her with his long, strong legs. He twisted the clamps 'til the pain she felt far eclipsed the
pleasure.
Oh, damn her imagination. Despite all the S & M, it was one of the few stories she had written that ended with the girl winning. Her editors didn't like it, but she insisted on keeping the ending.
"I want you to think about what we've done to you. I want you to whisper it to yourself 'til you fall asleep, then dream
about it. I need to have you do that." He kissed her. "You must."
"Do we have to keep her sexed up like that?"
"Yeah, trust me. There's a method behind my madness," Kevin said.
"Maybe you do, but I don't. This is a little too intense for me. She seems to like it though." Kevin lit a cigarette and
headed out the door.
Funny how he could do that. Fuck some sweet, strange girl and just leave her behind like a pile of dirty laundry. Kevin
was jealous of the look she gave him as he walked out the door.
"Thanks—you were great," she whispered. Her voice strained, barely a croak. Kevin did not hear her as his
attention was diverted by one of his friends roaring up on a Harley.
Kathy's eyes gleamed with fear as the sound of the Harley's engine grew louder.
"That's not another one of your friends, is it?" She picked up her jeans that lie, crumpled, on the floor by her bed.
"Well, you could call her a friend—a very good friend."
Kevin slid his jeans over his slim muscular legs. "She's a ex-girlfriend from Paris."
"Do you have to go now? I want you to stay," she begged.
"What you want is not important. What you wrote is."
A dutiful slave despite her independent streak, Kathy relived the way Ted and Kevin had fucked her, enjoying it so much
she masturbated herself to sleep. She slept long into the morning, and felt renewed and frisky when she woke up.
After a breakfast, she grew restless waiting for Kevin and began walking toward the house.
She found him in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette.
"You don't remember the story's ending, I bet. You wrote it so long ago. February 1997. I bet you wrote that in your
college dorm, huh?"
"Don't look so sad. I'm here to make your dreams come true."
"You didn't read the story all the way to the end." A smile simmered on Kathy's face, and she brushed a tendril of
blonde hair out of her eyes and brushed it behind her ear.
She jackknifed her legs underneath her body, her posture suddenly confident for the first time since she had moved to
the guesthouse.
"Don't try to sweet talk your way out of this. You can't backpedal—it's all there in black and white," Kevin cautioned,
his self-assured air spiraling into arrogance. He swung his suit-jacket over his shoulder and walked toward the door.
"I think two pages in the issue you had might have stuck together. Lord knows how that happened," Kathy muttered
under her breath. Kevin was looking out the window. The girl on the Harley had returned and didn't hear her. "The end of the story is on
page 62," she said, the harsh turn in her voice jolting him away from the window.
Kevin chuckled. "Oh, really?"
"Take a look at my copy of the magazine. It's on my desk. Page 62."
"If I were a writing teacher, I'd say the current ending is perfect." Kevin grabbed the doorknob, but stopped in his
tracks at the sound of her insistent voice.
"Go take a look," She cooed. He relented, his curiosity and her feline moans getting the best of him.
"I'll give it a read later," he winked at her. "I promise. I have a business meeting at Club Cassandra. I'll be back for you in
a few hours."
He walked out the door without throwing her a kiss or even giving her a final glance.
Kathy remembered the story all too well. It had been one of her first published pieces. The editor who accepted it even
wrote a glowing appraisal of her writing technique and paid her $50 extra for all rights to the story. When she returned to her guesthouse,.she emptied her
closet and dresser drawers silently, folding all her clothes neatly for once before locking the suitcases. Unplugging and boxing the computer was hard for her, it was like cutting off her arm for a few hours. She made a few trips the small garage adjacent to the guesthouse and packed the trunk and
backseat of her Datsun with all her belongings, and drove to a motel by the beach.
When Kevin came back to the guesthouse, he found the only things she had left behind.
A pair of unlocked handcuffs tossed on the pillows of the king sized bed next to the copy of "Melissa in the Middle"
opened to page 62.
ceased. There was only one part of the non-music experience he indulged in, and that was women. He'd had all kinds
through the years, had settled on different types for blow jobs after the show, one-night stands, affairs, and that most horrid
of words, relationship.
Since his touring days were coming to an end, he bought a house in West. L.A. Four bedrooms, three and a half baths
and a guesthouse. A little too big for him and his on-again, off-again girlfriend, but there were always friends and
groupies hanging out after nights on the town. And there was always the possibility of making a few extra bucks from
renting out rooms or the guesthouse.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you. There's a renter in the guesthouse."
"Then kick him out."
"It's a 'her' and she's got a two year lease."
Kevin looked up and shifted in his chair. "Really? What's she look like?"
"A cute blonde, about 25." Kevin's dark brown eyes widened.
Then Jake continued the description.
"She's a writer—academic papers and stuff. I dunno. Always at her computer."
"Well, she still has to leave. Don't worry, I'll get her to leave on her own."
"Yeah, right I bet if she was a stripper you wouldn't be asking her to leave."
Kevin balked. "Give me some credit, man."
"Sorry, just trying to make a joke." Jake closed his leather portfolio. "Well, you do what you want—but that extra $1500
a month is nothing to sneeze at. It'll pay for a few dinners at the Red Room, that's for sure."
* * * *
Kevin saw the candle. Ahh, there was a fire violation, maybe.
He knocked on the door as he got closer he heard the rock
station playing AC/DC. The door opened a crack.
"Who is it?"
She sounded young, frightened, sweet. In a white T-shirt and jeans, she answered the door. Her long blonde hair
disheveled but freshly washed, smelled of baby shampoo.
He wanted to take her right there, but controlled himself.
"I'm Kevin, your new landlord."
"New landlord? The Sanders sold the house?" she gasped, but then steadied herself.
"I thought they were just visiting Europe for a few months. I thought they were coming back in December." She tried to
mask her worry, but it crackled through her breathy voice.
"Oh, I'm sorry." Kevin put his hand on her shoulder. "You know, the real estate agent didn't even tell me your name."
"Kathy. Kathy Randall," she said, nervously twirling a strand of wet hair around her finger.
"I hope it's all right if I talk to you for awhile," Kevin said, walking into the cluttered, dimly lit guesthouse. He took a
copy of the L.A. Weekly off a red velvet chair, put it on the floor, and sat down.
"I didn't mean to alarm you," Kevin smiled wryly. "I'm subleasing the house while the Sanders are away."
"Oh," she smiled, a barely audible sigh of relief registering in her voice.
"C'mere, sit next to me," Kevin said. He pulled the Sanders' other velvet chair next to the one he sat on. "Let's
talk."
Obviously, she hadn't been expecting visitors. The floor was littered with books and papers. A half-eaten tin of
Chinese food was wedged up next to her computer monitor. She hesitated briefly, then sat down next to him, bunching
up her knees so her legs wouldn't touch his chair.
"I'm going to be here for six months, and I wanted to use this as a guesthouse for my visitors. I have a lot of European
friends who do business in L.A."
"Oh, I see." He looked straight at her, but she stared at the floor.
"The Sanders didn't tell me there was someone living here." He explained. "The agent just told me."
"I have a lease," Kathy said, perking up, "I have a copy around here somewhere."
"That's ok. I'm sure you have one and it's all legal." Kevin touched her hand. A pinprick of electricity jumped from her
skin to his. He swore he saw her nipples stiffen underneath her pale T-shirt.
"I know a few real estate people. I can make a few calls, cut you a deal. I'll pay for your move and maybe 2-3 months
rent. It'll be a nice place. One you like, of course."
She looked up at him, so desperate, like one of those painting of kids with big, sad eyes.
"Well I like it here, but I suppose if the place was clean and safe ... If you would pay the first few months that would
be good. I don't make a lot of money." Her face was too sweet; a round, easy target.
"I don't want to hurt you, Gina," She smiled when he said her name. ?You seem very set on staying here. Maybe I'll
rearrange my plans and you can stay. I'll work on it."
He rubbed her shoulder, and more electric currents seemed to shoot from her body to his.
"I'll let you finish your dinner," he said. "You know, if you ever want something special from the kitchen, just call me.
The Sanders' cook is still here every day but Sunday."
"Oh, thank you," she replied softly, "That's so kind of you."
"It's no problem. No problem at all." He winked at her, and rose from the chair, acutely aware of the way she stared at
his jean-clad ass. "I'll see you later," he winked. "Have a good night," she said, her voice an inadvertent
squeak as she closed the door behind him. He stayed up 'til dawn. When he came home from the
club, usually three or four in the morning, his friends jammed and entertained female guests. While they were playing strip
poker with some models from the Sky bar he walked to the far window and saw her alone at the computer, in a skimpy
nightie. He was fascinated by the silhouette of this lovely, young creature. What the chirpy strippers had been unable to
do this girl had without meaning to. Kevin rummaged through the mail his assistant had left on the kitchen table. Thank God Sara was so forgetful. He had to
have some kind of non-amorous excuse to go out to her. He glanced at the bulky magazine-sized envelope and the letter
addressed to Kathy Randall.
He knew the return address very well. It was a sex mag publisher in Manhattan. Some of the girls at his club had posed for it. He smiled to himself. Academic
papers, huh? Maybe she was too coy to pose for the magazines, but writing for them? He had checked the rental application she had filled out, and her employer was listed as Wittinger Publishing. Her occupation: Writer. It sounded academic to the uninitiated, but he knew they were notorious publishers of bondage books and magazines. Academic scholar, huh? That's what she wanted them to think. Pornographer wouldn't exactly get her name on a lease in the better part of town. He had called the publisher to check on her. Her pen name was Kathy Kystral.
Kevin was very familiar with their publications. And unlike many men, he did read the stories.
Kevin walked down the strobe lit pathway to the guesthouse and knocked on the door.
"Gina, it's Kevin, your landlord. I saw your light on and wanted to see if you were okay."
She opened the door, bleary eyed but coherent. The straps of her turquoise blue baby doll fell on her suntanned
shoulders on cue.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company."
"That's all right. I'm alone. I ... aaa ... was just getting ready for bed."
"I'm ok." She gestured toward her computer. "I'm working on a paper. It's really a headache."
She said it was about some philosopher. Kevin halflistened to her but stared at the shape of her body beneath
her thin silk baby doll. Unfortunately, she was wearing panties.
"Here, I have your mail. Sara forgot to bring it round this morning."
"Oh thank you. I was expecting a check." Kathy grabbed the envelopes out of Kevin's hand like a starving woman after food.
Kevin watched her, careful not to let his amusement turn to laughter. It was funny watching her stash the brown- wrapped
copy of "Bondage Girls" inside one of her college textbooks.
"So," Kevin started, "I'd love to see one of your ... papers. You work so hard on them. You know," he said, testing her
once again, "one of my friends has wonderful place on a quiet block in Beverly Hills. I could have you moved in by the end
of the week. I'll show you the place tomorrow."
"It sounds nice sure. Sure, I'll look at it." She said meekly, eyes downcast. "But I'd rather stay here."
Kevin moved toward her and kissed her. "You could stay here if the circumstances are right." He slid a finger across
her wrist. Such tiny wrists. Kevin looked across the room. A dresser drawer in her bedroom was half open. A haphazard collection of scarves and
jewelry were strewn about inside, as though they had been recently used and tossed hurriedly in the drawer.
"Are these your scarves? They are nice—real silk, just like your nightie."
He looked at her double bed.
"That's a nice bed. Your boyfriend must like it."
"I don't have a boyfriend."
"Girlfriend?"
"No," she answered coyly, "That's not my thing."
"That's a shame. You don't have anyone?" He took her
wrist in his hand and lead her to the bed. "Your baby doll is
pretty, but I don't think you need it." He took a step closer to
her. "Take it off."
He kissed her forehead. "It's OK. I know about your stories. I've read many of them—long before you moved
here. You might say I'm a fan."
"Are you..." She croaked out the words, frightened, then looked him in the eyes. Her body eased, her fear dissipated.
She let her baby doll slide off her hips, and it crumpled on the floor in choreographed perfection. Eagerly, she started for the
bed, but Kevin slipped his arms around her waist and placed her on the mattress.
"You don't remember, do you?" he said, "It must have been one of your first stories. You let me know if you want
me to stop and I will," he whispered. He guided her other wrist post and tied it he took her robe off, sweet thing.
"Now, what is this?" Kevin picked up the magazine, knowing what awaited him but keeping the neutral look on his
face. "Why look at this. You must be psychic. Your dreams have come true. Isn't that why you stay here?" He kissed her
gently, on the forehead, his tongue flicking faintly at the thin veneer of perspiration there.
"You're going to leave me like this?" Kathy moaned. "What if I need to go to the bathroom?"
"The knots aren't tight at all. You can ease your way out of them if you need to," Kevin assured her.
He watched as she struggled wordlessly to free herself. As aroused as he was he had to control himself. Maybe he'd beat
off later, or relieve his tension with one of the strippers. If he let her have him too soon it wouldn't be challenging for him.
It felt delicious to drive her crazy. She would do absolutely anything for him, to make him happy. He could tell she was
not a diva. He had too much of that. She was the opposite; pliable and bristling with desire, but unscathed by too much activity.
Putty in his hands.
Kathy freed herself from one scarf and concentrated on the other, finally giving up when the knot proved too tight.
"I'd rather stay here." She surrendered with a beatific smile, "And do whatever you want me to."
"Now, babe, I think you have it," he kissed her on the forehead
"I will stop by tomorrow—with a friend."
The next night, he rapped on the door with one short commanding knock.
"Are you ready?"
"Ready for?" Her eyes lit up.
"To go to Beverly Hills."
"I don't want to go there. Can't I stay here, Kevin?"
"Oh, my sexy little slave, there are no names here."
Her eyes sparkled. "Master," she whispered reverently.
The glow from the candle by the bed made her look like a candied devil.
As she spoke and savored the word, her nipples turned hard and the rest of her body opened to him, wet and pliable.
"You are a very talented little slave, you know that? Not only do you write well, you can perform as well as you write."
"They are your own fantasies, I bet," he stated, tugging at her hair 'til she gave a little squeak of pseudo-pain.
"No, they are not I just make them up. They are stories."
"And you would never turn them into reality if you had the chance?" Kevin slipped off his T-shirt. In his body he felt her
vibrations, the fear and unquenchable, unmet desire. His gaze studied her breasts, but he did not touch them. He took
nipple clamps from his case and pinned them onto her, watching her back off in fear as he grated and twisted them
onto her nipples. He savored the process, enjoying the look of ecstasy and fear interspersed on her face.
"What do you say?"
"Thank you, master."
"That's a good slave."
He pinned the other clamp.
"Yes, aah," she shuddered in pleasure, but he quieted her with his hand over her mouth. He laughed at his handiwork,
satisfied at the sudden look of fear lighting her eyes.He unzipped her short skirt. She wore no panties and had
shaved herself clean. Kevin moved her by the bed again, parted her legs, sweet and clean. One swift touch of his hand
sent convulsions through her body. He fed off her energy.
"You see, this is mine," he fingered her, "to do with as I please. Understand?"
"Yes."
He had a chain he had bought in Bangkok in '89, but had promised himself he would only use it on one woman. The
right woman. Like the Story of O, he could not bring himself to pierce her flesh. He attached it to her clit. "I will have it
attached permanently once you have proven your worth."
"You like this?" He pulled her hair with just the right amount of force and tenderness. He smiled at her reaction.
"Here. You do have the sweetest voice, but you have to be quiet for now." He tied the ball gag in her mouth, then
positioned her on her knees on the floor. Her hands were next. He tied them in fur—real fur straps. "Aha, you look
beautiful—no—a sight to behold." He knelt down in front of her and unzipped his pants.
"See, you get to look, but you don't get to touch."
"A-ha I knew you had some oil." He lotioned his cock, kneeling in the light of the scarf covered lamp. He spread his
legs slightly so that she would get a good view.
"Now watch," he looked at her. Yes, she looked in the mirror watching him and her reaction to him. She didn't know
where to look—at the whole picture or at his cock he moved closer—yeah, slick sound of hand pressing against his cock
shaft and the result of his desire spreading over her stomach,dropping over her thighs and pussy. Gina could only show her
gratitude by licking her lips. He stared at her, then kissed her lips and patted her ass. He walked to the bathroom to wash
himself, but left her tied to the post, cum dripping down her legs.
He sat on the bed playing guitar, every once in awhile glancing at her 'til she fell asleep then he carefully removed
her gear and carried her to bed, but he did not wash her off. His cum had to sink deep into her pores overnight. That was
the first step to controlling her. She had even written as much in her story. After all, he was just doing what she wanted. He left a rose next to her on
the pillow and left. The next night Kathy greeted him at the door and smothered him with kisses. Her smile soon turned to
confusion when his friend Ted followed him in.
"I want..."
"We know what you want my dear little authoress. 'Melissa in the Middle,' you remember that in 'Valentine Girls.' How
much did they pay you for that? A hundred bucks? Boy, you really have to crank 'em out to pay the rent." Kevin sat on the
bed next to her, sliding his hands up and down her bare thighs. She closed her eyes and moaned in appreciation.
Ted's shorts were already on the floor. "C'mere," he sauntered over to the bed and lifted her T-shirt over her
shoulders.
"Let's do it on the bed." Ted fingered her. "Hey she's a hot little thing. No, not yet," he tossed her on the bed and
covered her and the bed with oil, fingered her with lubricant 'til even the bedsheets were dowsed.
"Pleasure me. You know what to do." Kevin pointed at his cock, and she obeyed.
But she was taking too much pleasure in it. Where was the fear?
Ted watched as Kevin fucked her, studying them like a true voyeur.
He took a digital camera and aimed it at them.
Kevin swatted it away.
"Not now. Not with her," Kevin hissed. "Put it away."
The nipple clamps twitched against her skin but aroused her more than frightened her. She had revered Kevin when
he was alone. Now that he had a partner in crime to assist him he became an object of fear, someone to be conquered.
The men took strength from each other and they poked and prodded at her body as though she had no feeling. It had
been years since she wrote the story. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the ending.
Kevin took her, straddling her with his long, strong legs. He twisted the clamps 'til the pain she felt far eclipsed the
pleasure.
Oh, damn her imagination. Despite all the S & M, it was one of the few stories she had written that ended with the girl winning. Her editors didn't like it, but she insisted on keeping the ending.
"I want you to think about what we've done to you. I want you to whisper it to yourself 'til you fall asleep, then dream
about it. I need to have you do that." He kissed her. "You must."
"Do we have to keep her sexed up like that?"
"Yeah, trust me. There's a method behind my madness," Kevin said.
"Maybe you do, but I don't. This is a little too intense for me. She seems to like it though." Kevin lit a cigarette and
headed out the door.
Funny how he could do that. Fuck some sweet, strange girl and just leave her behind like a pile of dirty laundry. Kevin
was jealous of the look she gave him as he walked out the door.
"Thanks—you were great," she whispered. Her voice strained, barely a croak. Kevin did not hear her as his
attention was diverted by one of his friends roaring up on a Harley.
Kathy's eyes gleamed with fear as the sound of the Harley's engine grew louder.
"That's not another one of your friends, is it?" She picked up her jeans that lie, crumpled, on the floor by her bed.
"Well, you could call her a friend—a very good friend."
Kevin slid his jeans over his slim muscular legs. "She's a ex-girlfriend from Paris."
"Do you have to go now? I want you to stay," she begged.
"What you want is not important. What you wrote is."
A dutiful slave despite her independent streak, Kathy relived the way Ted and Kevin had fucked her, enjoying it so much
she masturbated herself to sleep. She slept long into the morning, and felt renewed and frisky when she woke up.
After a breakfast, she grew restless waiting for Kevin and began walking toward the house.
She found him in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette.
"You don't remember the story's ending, I bet. You wrote it so long ago. February 1997. I bet you wrote that in your
college dorm, huh?"
"Don't look so sad. I'm here to make your dreams come true."
"You didn't read the story all the way to the end." A smile simmered on Kathy's face, and she brushed a tendril of
blonde hair out of her eyes and brushed it behind her ear.
She jackknifed her legs underneath her body, her posture suddenly confident for the first time since she had moved to
the guesthouse.
"Don't try to sweet talk your way out of this. You can't backpedal—it's all there in black and white," Kevin cautioned,
his self-assured air spiraling into arrogance. He swung his suit-jacket over his shoulder and walked toward the door.
"I think two pages in the issue you had might have stuck together. Lord knows how that happened," Kathy muttered
under her breath. Kevin was looking out the window. The girl on the Harley had returned and didn't hear her. "The end of the story is on
page 62," she said, the harsh turn in her voice jolting him away from the window.
Kevin chuckled. "Oh, really?"
"Take a look at my copy of the magazine. It's on my desk. Page 62."
"If I were a writing teacher, I'd say the current ending is perfect." Kevin grabbed the doorknob, but stopped in his
tracks at the sound of her insistent voice.
"Go take a look," She cooed. He relented, his curiosity and her feline moans getting the best of him.
"I'll give it a read later," he winked at her. "I promise. I have a business meeting at Club Cassandra. I'll be back for you in
a few hours."
He walked out the door without throwing her a kiss or even giving her a final glance.
Kathy remembered the story all too well. It had been one of her first published pieces. The editor who accepted it even
wrote a glowing appraisal of her writing technique and paid her $50 extra for all rights to the story. When she returned to her guesthouse,.she emptied her
closet and dresser drawers silently, folding all her clothes neatly for once before locking the suitcases. Unplugging and boxing the computer was hard for her, it was like cutting off her arm for a few hours. She made a few trips the small garage adjacent to the guesthouse and packed the trunk and
backseat of her Datsun with all her belongings, and drove to a motel by the beach.
When Kevin came back to the guesthouse, he found the only things she had left behind.
A pair of unlocked handcuffs tossed on the pillows of the king sized bed next to the copy of "Melissa in the Middle"
opened to page 62.