Frank Campbell - Bound Ankles

A late summer breeze rustled the leaves of the trees in Jan’s garden, stirred the grass restlessly, and teased the bare skin of the girl bound to one of those trees. Donna was her name, a healthy young lass of eighteen summers, a wonderful figure that both men and women lusted after, and a face that radiated sweetness and innocence. Donna was also the full time slavegirl and captive of a girl only a little older than herself, her Aunt Janet. And she loved it, being, by nature, a very submissive female much given to love of tight cords binding her body, chains holding her prisoner, and an occasional whipping. Just to keep her in her place and provide a tonic that wakes up the whole system.

That day the twins had been kind to Donna—none of their usual painfully tight, contorted bondage. For that lazy California afternoon, as summer slid quietly into autumn, they had simply bound her hands crossed behind the tree trunk, crossed and tightly knotted but not too uncomfortable, and left the leg irons shackled on her ankles. She could stand, even move her legs a bit, or sit down, although regaining her feet proved difficult but not impossible.

The scene was idyllic. The bright sun to warm her golden skin and a gentle summer breeze to cool her, and the tiny sounds of the forest to entertain her. She had studied the sounds around her, there not being much else to do for a naked girl bound to a tree and all alone, and found there to be a great many. There was the rustle of leaves as they touched one another. There was a constant but varying medley of bird song from near and far. There was even, later in the afternoon when the breeze usually increased, the sighing of wind in the pines. She liked that sound, it reminded her of happy times as a child living in a small Northern California town and playing among the pines everyday. There were insect sounds and an occasional tiny roar of airliners so high above her that they were only specks drawing white lines across the sky. Donna sighed with happiness.

And she was content. She was once again the captive of her beloved “Auntie Jan” and her two daughters, the irrepressible Pip and Patsy, all of whom she loved deeply. She was once again the constant prisoner she had come to understand she wanted to be. She was always bound in some way, handcuffs, chains, leg irons, or the ever-present ropes. Sometimes a week or two went by with her wrists crossed and bound behind her back every second of every day. She became used to it, it was a way of life that suited this beautiful young woman.

Every time she was tied to a tree, a favorite pastime of the twins who loved to leave Donna helpless in the garden while they went off to school, uttering complaints and protests about it being a waste of time, she remembered the first time she had ever been bound. It had been the twins then too, who had caught the unsuspecting Donna in what she thought of at the time as an innocent child’s game. But when the ropes tightened down beyond what a silly game should entail, she wondered. And when the twins refused to release her, she protested. And when they tugged and tore her clothes off, leaving her a naked and completely helpless captive, she knew something was seriously wrong. Then the true nature of the adorable twins came out: their love of torturing helpless naked females. She shuddered with an erotic thrill at the memory of the clips they often attached to her nipples to make them burn with relentless fire. And there was the burning of her bottom whenever the twins took to whipping her bottom with riding crops and straps. For thirteen year old girls, they certainly knew a lot about sexually exciting and torturing a full grown female.

But their lovely mother, Jan, kept them in line and from doing any serious harm to Donna. Her own interests in Donna leaned towards keeping her naked and bound up, occasionally inflicting mild tortures of her own, but mostly playing the games of Lesbos in the privacy of her bedroom where Donna usually slept. In their lovemaking, and Donna had become quite proficient at it under Jan’s training, Donna’s hands were always bound behind her back, a condition that hampered her not at all. She more than made up for lack of hands with a talented tongue and lips.

And sometimes, while passing boring hours in tight bondage among the trees and bushes, she remembered those two people who had both briefly owned her, the fearsome and cruel Margaret Summers and the dashing and handsome Nigel Bransome. Introduced to Donna by Jan, and being a former friend of Aunt Janet’s, Margaret Summers had kidnapped Donna, tortured her for the fun of it, and planned to keep her forever. She had also kidnapped Donna’s beloved Jan, inflicted considerable pain upon her, then turned her over to that cad Nigel who also loved to whip naked girls then ravish them afterwards. But Nigel, not content with just Jan, had kidnapped Donna from under the nose of the cruel Margaret. With a giggle, Donna remembered that evening in Jan’s ‘big room’ under the house, more of a dungeon than anything else, when she had ended their captivity to Nigel by bonking him over the head with an empty champagne bottle. The girls had left him in his car several blocks from their house to awaken with a frightful headache and, hopefully, a lesson learned about messing with Jan and her girls.

In the weeks that followed that memorable incident, she often wondered about Nigel and the evil Margaret. They had not been heard from but she wondered if they would give up. Both of them had expressed a deep longing to possess her body, and both felt that they had a right to do so. Jan had installed a new security system but Donna could only hope that it would be enough. Nigel was cunning with the instincts of a male hunting his prey. And Margaret had a great deal of money and the power it brings. Either of them could mean trouble in the future.

But today was a warm and pleasant day, with no problems or troubles, and Donna was enjoying it. As she blew a stray ant off her left nipple, an occupational hazard one gets used to when one spends a lot of time tied to trees, she knew herself a contented slavegirl. She was not aware of the evil eyes watching from the cover of dense bushes across the clearing.

The crack of a riding crop against bare female flesh resounded throughout the big dungeon, followed immediately by a squeal of pain. “I just love the way she jerks and cries out when the riding crop hits,” said Pip with considerable sincerity.

“It is rather nice,” agreed Patsy. Both girls were holding riding crops, standing on either side of the hanging Donna, and taking turns applying their instruments of pain across the bare flesh of her nicely rounded bottom. Donna, completely naked as usual, was hanging by her wrists which were strapped tightly with leather bands. Her toes were perhaps an inch off the floor, close enough to be frustrating but far enough so she couldn’t touch the floor. With each impact of the riding crop, her body jerked and she danced a few steps in mid-air before the calmed down. Then her body would slowly sway back and forth while awaiting the next blow from the giggling teenagers.

“You really shouldn’t have refused to crawl back to the house,” offered Pip. “Mommy says we can whip you for disobedience. You were disobedient.”

“Yes, you were so bad,” chipped in Patsy. Both girls were in high spirits. They didn’t often get a chance to whip Donna and they did love it so. Since Donna was so very submissive, they had to set traps for her to fall into. In this case she balked at having to crawl a long way back to the house. Actually she hadn’t refused, just uttered a protest that it was hard to crawl when your hands were tied behind your back and your legs were tied together at the ankles and again, cruelly tight, above the knees. The girls reasonably pointed out that it could be worse, she might have been hogtied! But getting her to protest was enough. They untied her legs and immediately led her to the basement dungeon to string her up and lash into her tender flesh.