Grip of Fear · Part 2 (2/2)
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t;or the next strip of this tape goes over your mouth and all around your head, including the short hairs at the back of your neck."
"Auntie," Jim said dutifully.
"Hi, Audrey," Paula's bell-like, girlish voice sang out into the phone, "this is Paula, and I wanted to thank you for introducing me to Jim. He's perfectly darling. I tried to avoid spoiling one more romance by wrestling with him, but he insisted on starting something with me–and you know what that does to me… Of course he tried to get out and never come back, but I didn't want that to happen. He's too cute for words… What happened? Here, I'll make him tell you!" Then she held the phone next to Jim's ear and mouth, one exciting knee on the floor beside his head, the other up, an ankle in front of his face.
"She caught me and tied me up," Jim said in a small voice. "She has my wrists and an ankle together behind my back with a venetian blind cord and then she taped my fingers into a fist so that I can't use them to get loose."
Paula took the phone away from him then and said, "Come on over, Audrey, dear. We can have some fun with Jim. And be sure to bring your camera."
Helpless as he was, Jim tried to roll away, to get near the door, to an open window, anything. He could always claim he had been kidnapped or that it was a fraternity initiation, he reasoned in his wild efforts to move in this helpless position.
Paula stood with her hands on her hips, watching him contemplatively for a while. Then she took him by his free leg and, using the rug that had tripped him as a skid, she dragged him into her bedroom where she tied the ankle to the foot of the bed with one of her nylon stockings.
He didn't dare yell. The threat of the tape was too positive for that. He could only lie on his back on the floor, wondering what could possibly be Paula's interpretation of "some fun with Jim," and how they would photograph him, and what they would do with the pictures.
Then Audrey arrived. Ample-bosomed, narrow-waisted, full of hip, beautiful and blonde with exciting eyes and lovely legs, she stood looking down at her fallen cousin, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth.
"Good to see you, Jim," she teased. "I see you've already met my friend Paula."
"Aw, come on, Audrey, let me up, please," Jim urged.
Audrey set up her photographic equipment and, kneeling on the bed, took a picture of Jim in his helpless state. She then untied his ankle and turned him over on his face while Paula stood in the doorway watching. Carefully, Audrey freed the bound ankle but left her cousin with his hands tied behind his back and his fingers taped closed. Now she stood the flustered man on his feet and chucked him under the chin. "There, cousin," she said, "Do you feel better now?"
"They make better photographic subjects when they're stripped to the waist and you can see their muscles working as they try to get loose. What do you say to our posing Jim here as Prometheus Bound, 20th Century?"
"I just love classical subjects," Paula twinkled. "How do you plan to modernize it?"
"Well, you're going to be part of the picture, too," Audrey explained. "Here, let's make Jim take part in his own subjugation." She started unbuttoning his clothes, pulling them up over his shoulders. When she got to his undershirt, she pulled it over his head and it went around in back, hanging onto his arms. Now she began gathering the material, pulling his elbows back toward each other.
"Ouch, Audrey," Jim protested. "That hurts!"
"Would you be willing to do some work for a little extra touch, a few moments of freedom–just while you do it?" she asked him. "Remember, I recall some childhood pranks you played on me that have never been properly avenged."
"But to break a man's spirit like this," Jim sputtered, "to destroy his dignity–" Audrey gave him an extra yank on the clothing and Jim turned pale from the pain. "I'll do it."
Then they freed his arms and left him stripped to the waist. He was ordered to put some heavy screw eyes into the dark door frame. To prevent his using the tools as weapons against the girls, they had ropes around his ankles and tossed over the heavy beamed ceiling. All it would take to dump him abruptly onto the ground would be a yank on the ropes!
When, later, they untied his ankles, the ropes were left draped over the beam. But now Jim's task was done. The girls forced him to stand in the doorway, wrists up high, feet against the base of the door, and they used symbolic aprons to tie his wrists and ankles to the screw eyes, tying him with apron strings.
The dark door was closed behind the helpless man and Audrey set up her camera on a tripod. Then they sprayed him with a shiny, perfumed hair spray to make his muscles gleam and mussed his hair to curliness and sprayed it, too. Audrey looked into the viewfinder and looked up at Paula, disappointed.
"It's no good at all this way," she said. "His muscles are too relaxed, not at all corded. There's no anguish, no strain showing on his face. I want him to portray suffering, an attempt to wrest himself loose, the real spirit of a man bound under protest rather than just a weakling a pretty girl could muster this easily."
Jim, angered by this, began to tug at his bonds. Audrey kept on taunting him, accusing him of being puny, a sissy, a push-over for a pretty girl and then not man enough to handle her. Enraged, he lunged toward her, tugged at his bonds, and Audrey, delighted with the effect, took several exposures of him.
"Paula," she said, will you please do something to him that will make him try even harder to wrench himself loose?"
"I'll try," Paula said. Then she put on fresh perfume, fresh make-up, an even more dramatic costume and she stood close to him, patting his cheek, stroking his chest, standing on her toes and biting him on the earlobes. She squeezed his face between the palms of her strong hands and let her tongue dart inside his mouth, then backed away rapidly and stood in front of him, her chest thrust toward him, her hands on her hips, her eyes large and her chin down staring intently at him, then she backed away out of camera range and said, "Come on, Jim, don't you like me? Come on. Kiss me. Show me that you love me."
His muscles knotted and the strong taffeta sashes of the aprons were drawn taut. You could almost see the threads of the screw eyes straining to hold themselves in the wood, so violently did Jim struggle to get at the irresistably beautiful, incredibly desirable Paula.
More of these effective pictures were taken by Audrey, who exclaimed delightedly at what she was seeing in the viewfinder. "Now, Paula, I want you to take the next few of these shots. I want to see my 'beloved' cousin struggling to escape real pain."
Jim found himself in a cold sweat from the deadly quality in Audrey's voice. So he'd tattled on her some when they were kids and she'd gotten spanked for it. So he'd stolen a few things and she'd been blamed. So he'd lied to an early date of hers that she was pregnant and gotten her talked about. That was long ago when they were kids. She surely didn't intend to carry this revenge through to today now that they were both adults!
How wrong he was!
For Audrey was straightening out a number of wire coat hangers and wrapping some of the tape around one end of them as a handle. He watched these preparations with growing apprehension as the tape wound around the hook end of the hangers and Audrey practiced whipping her new weapon against a sofa pillow. Jim's stomach crawled when after the fifth blow, he saw a cloud of feathers emerge from the pillow.
Then Audrey ducked under his arm and stepped over his leg and went into the darkened room behind him. Abruptly across his back he felt a dozen simultaneous painful blows from the hanger whip. He cried out in pain and protest, screamed imprecations, yelped, begged Audrey to stop, pleaded for mercy. His face was drawn, his muscles hard and strained, his body covered with perspiration that rode in droplets atop the sheen they had sprayed onto his skin.
Paula recorded these scenes with the trained skills Audrey had imparted to her. The pictures were great, she assured Audrey.
Now they turned him around in his door frame, freeing one limb at a time and securing it in its next position before releasing the next. And then other pictures were taken of him from the rear as he was once again compelled to struggle against new bonds, this time the symbolic–but strong–bonds being a braid of long hair, a bright-colored silk scarf, a brassiere and a nylon stocking.
And then, exhausted, emotionally shattered by frustration, Jim sagged from his new bonds in the doorway. When they untied him, he simply dropped to the ground there.
"Looks like my cousin has had it, Paula," Audrey said, "but let's not take a chance with him. Even as a child he was tricky."
She lit a cigarette, smoked it for a brief minute, and then suddenly dropped it on Jim's bare chest. With a yelp he sat up abruptly and shouted, "Watch it, you clumsy little bitch!"
Instantly Paula leaped on him from behind, bending him double, and she caught his legs with her arms. He tried to straighten up, but so great was the strength of her arms, that even his powerful back muscles couldn't prevail over her.
"Now put one end of each of those ropes around his ankles," Paula ordered Audrey. When the ropes were tightly in place and the knots taped, Jim was stood up and required to stand on a chair. Paula held one of his wrists in a tight, twisting grip, with the skin being pulled in opposite directions by the wringing of her two hands while Audrey tied the other end of the rope leading to his ankle to the opposite wrist. The rope from the other ankle then reached across the rafter-beam overhead and ended on the wrist Paula was holding.
"This has to be exact," Paula said. "Get a stool for Jim to step down onto now."
When he stepped down, he was amazed to find his arms moving up. Then he stepped down onto some telephone books and found his arms were extended almost as far as they could reach. One more book was removed and the strain on his wrists and the cutting into his ankles caused him almost unbelievable pain.
"Watch this, Audrey," Paula said. "It will make good pictures, too." Jim looked at her, puzzled, but then found that he could relieve the strain on a wrist by lifting the ankle at the other end of the rope. Soon he was doing a wild dance of lifting first one ankle and then the other so that he could lower his arms occasionally.
Audrey dutifully recorded the wild postures her cousin was being forced to assume by the ingenious system they had used on him. When he slowed down, the girls amused themselves by tickling him under the arms with gloved fingers, a cluster of long, ornamental feathers and a soft powder puff on a long handle.
"Please," Jim said, "I can't take it any more. I'll do whatever you say. But please let me down, won't you?"
"For a while," Audrey said, looking at Paula for confirmation, "but we'll secure you to a chair at the writing desk as your price of freedom. You have some writing to do, Jim."
They released him and helped him to the chair. Then chains were brought out to padlock his waist, ankles, chest, and neck to the sturdy, high-backed, massive chair. Only his arms were free.
"Write a detailed confession of everything you did that was wrong to me when we were children," Audrey insisted. "And don't leave out a single thing." She handed him a pen and a stack of white paper.
While he was writing, Audrey posed Paula in several dramatic nude positions, working with extreme close-ups, sometimes photographing her breasts in their lovely perfection, sometimes her deliciously shapely buttocks, sometimes her thighs, even close-ups of her exquisite face.
Looking at the girls briefly while he paused to review some of the outrages he had committed against his cousin as a youth, Jim suddenly blurted out, "But those are exposed films you're using!"
"I know," Audrey told him. "We used conventional lens types on you in your position as Prometheus. Now these exposures of the beautiful feminine body will show to what Prometheus is bound in our time."
His hand trembled as he finished writing the details of his confessions. When he couldn't think of another misdeed against Audrey and she had packed away her photographic equipment(her last shot being Jim in chains at the writing desk), she read the confession approvingly and locked it away with her camera gear.
Now will you unchain me and let me go?" Jim asked.
Audrey finished packing her equipment and stopped in the doorway briefly. "That's up to Paula, Jim. After all, she won in the wrestling match. And she's the one who said you were perfectly darling, and too cute for words." She left.
Jim looked imploringly at Paula. "Please, Paula," he asked.
She was dressed again, freshly made-up, perfumed, gowned, and bejewelled. Never had he seen anyone more beautiful in all his life.
"I've a few writing chores for you, too, Jim." Paula said, standing close to him, letting her beautiful satin gown brush against his bare arm. "I want you to write out a bill of sale, giving your person to me to do with whatever I please, whenever I please, without any recourse for you whatsoever. I want you to write that you are a chattel of mine, Jim, completely, utterly, irrevocably in my power."
He looked at her long and thoughtfully, looked down at his bonds, recalled the pictures he would someday see of himself in bondage and suffering, utterly at the mercy of this woman.
"And if I refuse?" Jim asked.
"Then, when I release you, you may never see me, phone me, or hear from me again as long as you live."
"Now may I make one more request concerning this document?" Jim asked.
"Yes," Paula replied. Her fingers were walking across his bare shoulder. Her perfume assailed his senses. He felt the pressure of her thigh against his arm.
"May I also write into this assignment of my person to you a stipulation that it is contingent on your giving serious consideration to–" Jim turned scarlet and tried again. "Oh, hell, Paula," he blurted. "May I say that I am doing this in consideration of your agreeing to at least think over marrying me?"
Paula smiled prettily, "Why, yes, Jim. I think that would be very nice."
His fingers fairly flew as they wrote the message on the paper. There was a happy grin on his face. He didn't realize, so intent was he on his writing, that Paula was unlocking the chains that had held him as he wrote at the desk.
And then, when he was through, he found himself free. He walked across the room to where Paula was sitting. Silently he dropped onto one knee and presented her with the written message.
"I give this to you, Paula, with love."
While she read it imperiously, Jim painfully retrieved his clothing and got dressed again, putting on his undershirt, shirt, tie, feeling his hands tremble as much from emotion as from the strain to which the girls had subjected him.
He left the room to straighten up and when he returned, Paula had finished reading the message and was standing next to the opened front door. "You may leave now, Jim," she said. Then she caught him in a firm grip, bent him over backward and kissed him full on the mouth, a long, lingering, passionate kiss.
Jim's heart thundered in his chest as he exclaimed "Auntie!"
Grip of Fear · Part 2 (2/2)
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