© 2000 By LuckySpider
I awake early in the morning from a dreamless slumber.
My eyes open to a glorious sight: the sun filtering through my bedroom
curtains illuminates my guest's heavenly, hog-tied body. She is lying on
her side, her back to me, quietly and determinedly working at the cords
that bind her. She is moving gently, slowly, trying not to wake me. As much
as they are able, her fingers probe the bonds at her wrists, search along
the connecting rope to her ankles, seeking a knot she can untie, or a loose
loop that she can exploit to win her freedom. Hopeless, of course. But her
determination, her refusal to give up after so many hours of failure wins
my admiration. And more than admiration. Within seconds, I am ready to take
her again. But first things first.
I yawn, stretch, rise to a sitting position. She gasps and cringes, stiffens, expecting the worst. She will have to be patient. I tell her I'm about to remove her gag, but if she says a single word, even a whisper, I will gag her again and she won't get any breakfast. It's the longest speech I've made since we first met. She nods a promise to stay quiet; she hasn't eaten since probably lunch the previous day. I remove the ball-gag. Her pillow is soaked with her drool. I admire the angry red marks of the leather strap on her cheeks. She sighs with relief, works her jaw to loosen it up.
Loosening the hog-tie and the bonds on her ankles, but keeping her hands tied, I lead her into the master bathroom. This takes some time; she's very stiff and sore, and she hobbles more than walks. I'm patient with her. I sit her down on the toilet and stand back with my arms crossed, watching her. I had thought I might have to cajole or threaten her into relieving herself while I watched, but I needn't have worried. As soon as her pert bottom hits the toilet seat, she lets go, again sighing and throwing her head back with relief.
When she's done on the toilet, it's bath-time. I untie her hands, confident that for the time being she's in no shape to try anything. I order her to run a hot bath. She silently complies, her eyes downcast, acting as if her spirit is broken. I'm not fooled for a second, she's only biding her time, gathering her strength for an escape attempt. I bathe her sweet body, gently soaping her up and rinsing her down, massaging her rope-burns. I go over every inch of her. She accepts my attentions stiffly, her eyes closed and her lips set in a thin line. As long as she cooperates I won't require her to like it. As I wash her, I can't help noticing her tight little butthole. I smile, begin making plans for later in the morning. As the water drains from the tub, I turn on the shower and wash her hair under it, then rinse every vestige of soap and shampoo off of her.
I order her out of the tub. I make her stand still while I dry her off. I brush out her long, pretty brown hair, for once being careful not to pull it too much. Her naked body is so beautiful, so beautiful. I can hardly wait to get her tied again, to get inside her again.
I make her gather up the ropes in which she spent the night, and I march her ahead of me into the dining room, grabbing my bag of goodies on the way. I take the ropes from her and point to one of the dining room chairs. I sense she's feeling refreshed from her bath, she might even be feisty enough to try something. But she sits in the chair indicated, and her hopes of escape are dashed as I quickly lash her to it. Not too strictly; I merely bind her arms to the sides of the chair, carefully avoiding her tender rope-burns. A few loops to secure her legs and she's ready for breakfast.
I'm very pleased with her. Through all this, she has remembered my order not to say a single word. She has cooperated in every way. If she only did so because she hurt too much to fight, that's of no importance. I assemble a nice little meal of oatmeal with brown sugar, fresh fruit, and a piece of buttered toast. I get to feed it to her bite by bite, and I let her wash it down with orange juice and milk. When she's finished eating, I let her rest while I prepare and eat my own breakfast. Warning her again not to make a sound, I take my bag of goodies into the living room and spend a few minutes getting things ready for the morning's activities.
I untie her, keeping a close watch for any sudden moves. She seems much recovered from the previous day's ordeal. I take her by the arm and lead her into the living room. Before she can fully take in the preparations I have made, I spin her around and jerk her arms behind her back. I force her to her knees. Grabbing a coil of nylon rope from the pile on the floor, I cinch her forearms up high on her back, so they are laying one above the other and her elbows are bent at ninety-degree angles. I lash them tightly together in this position. She struggles, but can get no leverage against me. I loop more cord around her chest, above and below her breasts, welding her arms to her body.
She has forgotten my earlier order and is shouting for help again. From
atop the coffee table, I retrieve a good-sized foam rubber ball. Compressing
it in my hand, I stuff it into her mouth. I hold my hand under her chin,
forcing her jaws closed around the ball. The ball expands inside her mouth
to fill it completely, with no danger that it will go down her throat and
choke her. A bit of the foam rubber peeks out from between her nearly closed
lips. I pick up a piece of duct tape that I had earlier removed from its
roll, slap it over her lips. 
As before, I press it home, lovingly sliding
my hand over its grey surface until it has firmly adhered to her soft flesh.
Her eyes shoot poisonous daggers at me over her new gag.
I drag her over to the end of the coffee table, the end with the pillow on it. The pillow rests on a blanket, which covers and pads the length of the table. Still on her knees, I bend her over the table, binding her body to it with windings of rope around her waist and her upper back, just under her armpits. The pillow under her belly cushions her, keeping her ass a bit higher than the rest of her. To the table legs I tie her knees, spreading them painfully wide. She gasps and moans as I grab her ankles and lash them tightly to her thighs. Now she can barely move. She can wiggle her fingers and toes and shake her head, but that is about all.
I stroll into the bedroom leaving her to look at herself in the mirror I have placed at the other end of the coffee table. I retrieve a condom and a bottle of lube. Returning to my guest, I find myself stopping and just looking at her, as I have so many times. She rubs her face against the blanket, working her jaw, trying to defeat the tape that silences her. I can see it move as she tries to open her lips. Her fingers are again probing, searching for any weakness in her bonds. Her arm muscles flex and writhe. She quietly grunts with her efforts.
I kneel behind her, between her bound legs, and use my finger to apply some lube to her tight little asshole. She bucks and squirms as best she can, shakes her head wildly, produces a nasal hum, the loudest protest she can make since no air can enter or leave her mouth. I shove my lubricated finger all the way into her ass, pull it out, shove it in again, accompanied this time by my middle finger. She jerks and tries to scream, managing only a strained high-pitched "ummp". She throws her head back; in the mirror I can see fresh tears slide down her lovely face. I rub my rubber-encased hard-on against her ass, applying more lube to her anus and to my erection. She tries to burrow her face into the blanket, moaning and sobbing.
She is so helpless, so beautiful. Her fingers spread, curl into fists, spread again. Her shoulders heave with her struggles. Below her bound arms her waist narrows, then widens to form the lovely round ass before me. Two dimples grace her lower back, on either side of her spine. My desire for her is more than I can bear.