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Investigator Hardcore

Administrator — Thu, 16 Aug 2007 11:13:37 +0000

“I am Jim Fredericks, a private investigator with a practice divided
between Mexico and Houston. I met Miss Ryan on the plane. Is Miss Ryan being
detained, or is she under arrest?”
“That is to be determined,” said the Colonel. “Miss Ryan, what can you
tell me of your trip to Mexico?”
“I went to Mexico on business. I was to meet a man there and spend the
weekend there with him working. I am a secretary.”
“So, he imported a secretary all the way from the United States? You must
be very skilled indeed. Tell me, what else did he have you do? Are you a
prostitute? Let me assure you that if you are, it is no concern of mine, and
that matter is not at all in my jurisdiction. We are concerned about something
else entirely, something far more serious. I suggest that you tell me the
absolute truth about this matter.”
“I am not a prostitute!” said Stacy, very upset with the accusation.
Jim broke in. “Officer, I sense that there is some reason that you are
questioning my friend that goes beyond import violations. She has no luggage,
and she is carrying no contraband. It is certainly not illegal to go to Mexico
and her papers are in order. Why are you questioning her?”
“Let me get straight to the point then. We received certain photographs
of a women yesterday from a notorious white slave ring. One of these
photographs appears to be Miss Ryan.” Colonel Cooper pulled a manila envelope
from his desk, and took out three black and white photographs and gave them to
Stacy.
The top photograph was a striking young brunette in an evening gown with
elbow length leather gloves. She wore a diamond necklace that must have cost
twenty thousand dollars if it were real. She was tightly gagged with a ball
gag the type that Stacy was all too familiar with, and she was turned to the
side so it was apparent that her arms had been tightly bound with rope and her
elbows had been wrenched together and bound. There were tears streaming from
her eyes, and she seemed to be in pain and very frightened. She could have
been no more than twenty-five, although her sophisticated dress made her look
more mature.
The second photograph was of Katrina, equally tightly bound and gagged,
and the third photograph was of Stacy in the white dress with the wide black
belt, in the same bondage manner as the elegant woman in the first photograph.
“That appears to be you in the third photograph, Miss Ryan. Is it?” asked
the Colonel.
Stacy looked at Jim. Even he did not know the whole story. She was a
little upset with Fernando for sending her home in such publicly flaunted
bondage, but she had promised to protect his identity and his cause to break up
the slavers. She certainly did not want to go to jail for him, however.
“You seem hesitant to reply. Let me tell you a little bit about what you
seem to have gotten yourself into. This woman is the wife of Michael
Wentworth. You may be familiar with him. He is an industrialist and a weapons
maker. The woman in this photograph is Renee’ Wentworth, his wife of two years
and the daughter of a French weapons maker.
“Mrs. Wentworth as taken from her hotel room in Mexico City yesterday
morning. No ransom note was left, and none of the government authorities have
heard from the kidnappers. Of course, she could have been kidnapped for money,
but our worst fears are that her husband is to be blackmailed into supplying
arms to insurrectionist factions in Mexico. As you might imagine, with Mexico
bordering on Texas, this is a matter of National Security. All of the customs
stations have been notified, and we suspected that someone entering the United
States would provide us with clues regarding this matter.
“I don’t have to tell you that this matter is strictly Top Secret. You,
Miss Ryan, appear to be in the same state as this unfortunate Mrs. Wentworth.
I highly recommend that you co-operate, or you will be detained as a material
witness in this case,” concluded Colonel Cooper.
“I prefer not to comment at this time,” said Stacy. She remembered that
she saw Mrs. Wentworth in the cells where they had spent a thankfully few hours
before Fernando had rescued them. She was probably the elegantly clad young
brunette that was lying on the cell floor hog-tied and sobbing.
“I will not mince words, Miss Ryan,” said the Colonel. “I suspect that you
are familiar with this case, and your photograph in bondage along with these
others submitted to us confirms it, and therefore, I am placing you under
detention as a witness, until you choose to tell us what you know regarding
this matter.”
“Excuse me,” broke in Jim. “I am a licensed private investigator, and am
frequently employed in the transportation of prisoners, and am bonded for that
activity. In deference to my friend, who has spent a traumatic weekend, I
volunteer to hold her in custody for one night without fee, and discuss this
matter with her, and escort her back her tomorrow at 10:30 for questioning, and
I feel that I may be able to convince her that telling you what she knows may
be the best thing for all concerned, including the United States and this Mrs.
Wentworth and her husband.”
The Colonel sounded interested. “Do you have your papers here?”
“Certainly,” replied Jim, and took a card, and a folded sheet of paper out
of his wallet and handed them over to the Colonel. The Colonel, seeing a
possible way to make some progress, nodded.
“Very well, I see you are a resident of Houston, Mr. Fredericks. I would
like however, if you would stay at a designated hotel so we can contact you if
necessary. Specifically, I would like you to stay at the Mariott downtown.”
Jim, knowing this to be typical, was pleased at the prospect. Also, he
was wondering what his bound friend on the plane was involved in, and did not
want her seen in his house, in case there would be someone following them.
“That would be fine,” he replied.
Stacy protested. “Hey, I don’t see why I can’t just call you from where I
am going!”
“You don’t seem to understand,” replied the Colonel. “You are now in
custody, Miss Ryn. You can spend the night in the Mariott under the protection
of Mr. Fredericks, or you can spend it handcuffed in one of our airport cells,
which I can assure you are very small and none too comfortable, until the FBI
arrive tomorrow. I don’t feel that you are dangerous, Miss Ryan, but your
presence must definitely be secured so we can continue our investigation. Take
your pick.”

“Well Colonel, since I appear to be under arrest, I will go with Jim.”
She looked daggers at him. “Well,” she said sarcastically, “are you going to
handcuff me now? And what about some sort of gag?”
“When we leave,” said Jim with a straight face.
“I don’t believe it!” said Stacy. “This is like a nightmare!”
“Please try to understand, Miss Ryan. Your going with Mr. Fredericks is a
concession to your comfort as well as your safety. He is, however, to use any
means possible to assure that you are here tomorrow, and that does include
keeping you in restraints the entire time. It’s simply regulations,” said the
Colonel kindly.
The black woman came in carrying some papers. “Where do I sign for her,
Colonel?” Jim asked. The papers were placed on the desk. Jim signed for his
prisoner.
“You will be paid the usual fee,” said the Colonel to Jim.
“Very well,” said Jim. “Are you ready?” he asked Stacy.
Huffily Stacy stood. Jim pulled the handcuffs out of his pocket, and
approached her. She offered her wrists in front, pouting, and Jim clasped one
wrist and then twisted her arms behind her and clasped her other wrist shut.
Stacy was bright red with humiliation. This is the first time that she had
ever been handcuffed at the auspices of her own government.
“No gag, Stacy,” said Jim, “The gag can be used at my discretion, but the
handcuffs are mandatory. I’ll gag you later, for the night.”
“We will see you two tomorrow, and I hope that you have developed a more
co-operative attitude by then, Miss Ryan,” said the Colonel.
Stacy said nothing as she was lead out into the crowded lobby with her
hands chained behind her back, and Jim with his hand firmly grasping her over
her elbow.

Outdoor Bondage Story

Administrator — Wed, 01 Aug 2007 07:58:55 +0000

Late August we went to spend some weeks in the Alps with all the
family. The panorama was idyllic: rocky mountains, luxuriant woods,
meadows and pastures studded by crystal lakes.
We walked many hours every day and enjoyed ourselves a lot.
One morning our kids remained to play with some friends in a
beautiful park, full of games and attractions, so Alex and I went
for a walk in a wood quite far away. The previous day and night I
had been in charge, and Alex was wearing marks of my belt and teeth.
Besides, he had his legs striped with red and blue bruises, because
I had beaten him with tiny branchlets. He was very proud of those
marks and ready to switch. He informed me with a steel voice: “Today
I AM in charge, sweety.”

For half an hour we followed a beaten path, then decided to enter
into the thick of the forest. We went on for some minutes: at a
certain point it was as if we were passing the threshold of an
enchanted realm, and time was no more. The ground was crowded with
fallen branches, rocks covered with musk, stones of different shapes
and dimensions, tall grasses. A beautiful raven, black as the
deepest night, was following us from the beginning of the morning
and stopped himself to rest on the tallest branch of a tree nearby.
Squirrels were playing. There was an exquisite fragrance of wet
earth and mint plants. For a long time we remained silent.

At last my Master told me: “I think that this is the right place.
The trees are dense enough, and there’s a good supply of the kind
of wood I was looking for”. The wood around us was a mixed forest,
partly made of conifers and partly of oaks and birches. I was
dressed in a wool sweater, a pair of orange shorts, and heavy
shoes. At my neck I wore a silver collar with very big turquoises.
In my earlobes there were eight small golden earrings and two large
ones of silver and turquoise. They were so heavy that were slowly
stretching my holes. Over his jeans Alex wore a very big belt, with
an heavy engraved buckle.

The voice of my beloved was deep and beautiful: “Slave, come here.”
Immediately I did so. “Look at that tree.” said my Lord, pointing
to an old, lovely pine, with a big trunk covered with resin. I
swallowed.
He took my left hand and led me in front of the tree. “Bind your
hair, slave.” – he ordered. I obeyed. My hair, cut very short three
years ago, is now of shoulder length. “Take down your shorts and
panties.” My Master said. I performed. “And now, darling, embrace
the trunk.” For a moment, only for a moment, I hesitated.

My Lord slapped me with the back of his ringed hand. I fell on the
ground. “Useless slave, do I have to repeat my orders now before
you deign obey them?” I was weeping; my Lord’s hand had been even
heavier than usual. He was wearing his heavy family onyx ring,
engraved with the signet of his grandfather.

Painfully I stood up and embraced the trunk. “You disobeyed me.”
His voice was hard. “Forgive me, Master… please, I didn’t want
to disobey you, I didn’t mean to, really…” “You were slow, you
hesitated… don’t you know who is the Master here?” My eyes were
full of tears. “Please, my Lord, punish me, but don’t be angry! I
was slow and stupid, but I never wanted to disobey you…”

Alex answered: “I’m not angry; you are luck that for this time you
don’t see me in that state.” Now my face was in contact with the
trunk of the pine. I couldn’t see my Master, but I clearly heard
the sound of branchlets being broken; then, after a while, his
beloved steel voice: “I will beat you with these six birch-rods.
Do you have any question?” I asked, with trembling voice: How many
strokes will I receive, my Lord?” He answered: “It depends. I want
to break these rods on your buttocks. When all six are broken your
birching will be finished.” “Master” – I said as sweetly as possible -
“Yes, slave?” “Please – I repeated, because I was feeling really
repentant – hit me bloody, but don’t be angry. I’ll never hesitate
again, never”. My Lord said, with unexpected sweetness: “My dear,
as I told you before, I’m not angry. I love you, darling, you are
the slave that I’ve always dreamed of. Now, listen to my orders.
During this beating you will not be bound, but it’s better for you
to remain embraced to the tree. If you change position, I’ll hit
you harder. Is it clear?” “Yes, my Master”. Then he continued:
“You can cry as much as you want, of course, only animals will hear
you. I love you, Laylah.”
The raven on the tree nearby was laughing.
My Lord began my birching.
A fire different from any other I had experienced exploded in my
buttocks. I cried: “Lord, please, forgive me.” Another painful
stroke and: “I forgive you, slave.” He kissed me, then continued
my beating. I cried and cried and cried. Again the raven mocked
me with his verse.
My Master went on for a long time, while I tried with all my strength
to maintain the position he had commanded me. At the end I couldn’t
stay still anymore, and, exhausted, I moved, half collapsing on
the ground. The strokes now arrived on my shoulders. “Please, my
Lord – I begged – Please, give me some moments to regain position…”
His voice was liquid iron: “No, darling, no mercy. I will go on
without interruptions. If you want you can say red or yellow, but
if I don’t heard a safeword, I will continue.”
One stroke reached my flanks. At last I was again in position and
the target became again my bottom. I was mad with pain; but just
when I was thinking: “No pleasure, this time” a huge wave of
ecstasy wrapped me and rocked, lulled me in its tender arms. I was
again dissolving in that well known ocean… thank you, my Goddess…

After a time I perceived as interminable, he stopped and told me:
“The birch rods are all broken, now come on my knees.” He was sitting
on a large stone. I bent myself on his thighs, and waited. “Now
I’ll spank you, honey, and you will feel a lot of pleasure.” I was
in so deep a trance that I remained silent. He began spanking me.
“You are really an eyeful – my Lord told me – Your buttocks are
all bruised, and the marks are of many colours, blue, red, violet…
In two points where the branchlets hit with knots there are a few
drops of blood, but they are few indeed. I’m proud of my handywork.”

He spanked me very well, slowly, hotly, with a good rhythm. The
pain on a flesh so punished was hard, but there was also, as Alex
had said, an intense pleasure. I was feeling high with endorphins
and begged: “Please, green, Master …harder, my Master…” He
laughed, happily: “You wonderful slut of a slave!” In a few moments
I came – a wonderful, sweet, musked orgasm. My Lord embraced me
and cuddled me for a while. We were silent, for long, calm, serene
moments.
Then he advised me: “Darling, you happened to fall down the path
and bruise your face, didn’t you?” “Huh?… What, Master?” “Honey -
he told with sweetness – the mark of my ring… we must find an
excuse of some kind…”
“Oh, my Lord – I answered – why must it be this way? I’m so proud
of your marks! I dream a world in which men and women of every
kind, taste and opinion can be free to act without repressions…
my Goddess, a world of love, freedom and tolerance…” Alex answered,
solemn and simple at the same time: “I understand you very well.
I also am very proud of the marks that my beloved Lady impressed
on my body… but this world, exactly as it is in this moment, is
THE PURE EARTH – all is perfect, you must only Wake up, and live…”
“I’m Awake, my sweet Lord, and I LIVE…”
We began the way of return. Our friend the raven was still watching,
mocking and following us. “Brother Raven – I said to him – friend
of Wotan, grimes wrasen, this morning I didn’t give up my eye for
wisdom, but in this little ordeal I’ve gained love, a DEEPER love.
Thank you for having mocked me, as it was fit. Thank you for having
being present.” The bird cawed to us, then prepared himself to fly
away. “Blessed be!” I cried to him. Then I followed my Master
towards the beaten path.