Roberta Vickers - Bondage whore

The tightly roped girl felt the walls of her velvety cunt stretch every time his jerking cock drove into her hole. The tickly, tingly feeling increased in her crotch and soon became a dull, burning ember. As the man continued to fuck her, those embers blazed higher and higher until Mindy was consumed with the fires of longing and lust.

The professor uttered completely unintelligible phrases. Mindy didn't even try to understand what the man was saying. That was his trip. Hers was getting off on the feel of being filled with a throbbing, warmly pulsing cock. Once the man rammed his dong full hilt into her hole and stayed for long minutes, resting, reveling in the feel of being completely surrounded by a wonderfully tight, hot sheath of cunt.

Mindy wiggled her hips as much as she could and squeezed down with her inner muscles. She heard the professor groan and saw a look of sheer carnal delight cross his face. He had probably never flicked a woman before who was so willing to give him the maximum pleasure possible.

Perhaps he had never fucked anyone but young girls, inexperienced and unwilling.

Mindy's body was filled with the crouching feline feeling that preceded orgasm. She felt her muscles tightening, screaming for the sexual release of total climax. As the professor shouted out his lust in a long, loud scream, he came, hosing Mindy's twat with his jizz.

The feel of his molten cum was all it took to trigger orgasm in Mindy's awaiting body. The crouching beast lurking in her loins leaped. She gasped and moaned as the waves of orgasm coursed through her to smash against the shores of her brain.

Locked together at the groin, the pair bucked and writhed until, their passions spent, they collapsed in an exhausted heap on the bed.

The professor looked down at the bound Mindy and said, "Don't worry, little girl. I'll call the police and tell them where you are. You won't starve or anything."

With that, he crawled out from between Mindy's aching thighs and quickly dressed. He left the room through the door and never gave his captive a backward glance.

Mindy lay on the bed, hands tied behind her, the weight of her body cutting off the circulation in her arms. With her legs fastened to the bed posts and inclined upwards at a thirty-degree angle, she began to feel the tiny needle jabs that indicated her legs were not getting enough blood, either. Completely helpless, she had to lie there until someone came and rescued her.

Perhaps fifteen minutes later, Michelle came in. She stared at Mindy's supine form, eyes lingering on her shaved box, and said, "The professor was pleased."

Not another word was exchanged between the two as Michelle cut Mindy loose and led her back to the posh, iron-clad cell.

In the cell, dinner awaited the young girl. Although she wasn't really hungry, she forced herself to eat. How many hours had it been since she had last eaten? The only food she could recall was breakfast at home.

Her ex-home, she hastily corrected herself, her ex-home. The home with the father who could rape his own daughter, then sell her into slavery for a lousy five hundred dollars.

Mindy had to admit that the food was excellent. Her untutored tastes did not recognize the cornish game hen or many of the other dishes served alongside a la carte. The plan of those who ran The Institute was obvious. Surround their "inmates" with luxurious items, the finest of foods, probably the most lavish wardrobes imaginable and perhaps they wouldn't complain when a "patron" abused them. Mindy could see the attraction to many young girls who had never experienced the finer things in life.

They could live like royalty… in exchange for the use of their bodies.

Mindy considered this as she quietly finished the last of her peaches melba and knew it would have probably worked with her. It would have been very successful had it not been for the incident with her father the night before her abduction. It had done something to her, hardened her mentally and emotionally, callused her very soul, to be raped by her drunken bastard of a father.

What had occurred after that had been a shock, but one which was more easily coped with and put into proper perspective. Her father's incestuous ways, then the two kidnappers with their lies, then the leather-clad and whip-cracking Michelle, then the professor. All hardened her resolve and forced her to grow an impregnable shield around herself. She would never again allow anyone or anything to penetrate her private world. Mindy could take whatever pleasure she would from The Institute, the fancy clothes and fine foods, then derive what she could in the way of physical enjoyment from her assigned patrons, no matter how coarse or degrading they might be to her.

And all the while, she'd be working on a plan for escaping from this hellish Institute.

Mindy stood and slowly walked around the perimeter of the tiny cell in which she was imprisoned. It was only a ten-foot square, mostly dominated by the monstrous king-sized bed. A small dresser and mirror were placed along one wall and niche provided the necessary sanitary facilities. An iron door that seemed impervious to all but the most heavy of cannon fire was securely fastened in such a way as to discourage any attempts at breaching it. The hinges were recessed and partially hidden by the wall, and Mindy had seen the double sliding bolt arrangement that fastened the door on the outside. There was no way she could open both of the dead bolts from inside the cell. One might possibly be thrown, but imagining two could be circumvented in some fashion was daydreaming.

And once in the halls, who knew what kind of alarms or surveillance equipment might be set up? Whoever designed The Institute seemed to have a fetish for observation.

That set Mindy thinking. Perhaps even now she was being watched. She didn't see any method by which she could be seen, save the iron grille on the door. But the minor on the dresser might conceal a hidden pair of eyes.

She did her best to peer behind the dresser mirror. Mindy flattened herself against the cold cement block wall but could see nothing behind the mirror but unbroken expanses of grey concrete. No other possibility existed. Microphones were possible but doubtful. The people of The Institute were too confident; they thought that their young inmates were securely imprisoned.

Mindy considered other avenues of escape besides the obvious iron door. The walls on each side of the cell led to other cells; she remembered noticing that when she had been returned after her bout with the professor. That left the back wall as her avenue of escape. She rested her palm against the wall and found it slightly cooler than the others. This gave Mindy the hope that it might be an outer wall. If she could get through it, she might be able to escape just like the Count of Monte Cristo had from his prison cell.

A spoon seemed like the best method for scraping loose the mortar between the blocks. Mindy oozed under the bed and checked the wall. From their size, she thought if she could get four of the blocks out of the wall, she would be able to squeeze through to freedom. One block would be of sufficient size to see if she had, indeed, picked a viable route for her escape from the small cell.

The mortar was hard, firm, but Mindy's determination was firmer. She spent long hours scraping away at the cement. About a quarter of the way through the mortar on one side of the block, Mindy got a strange feeling, a premonition of approaching danger. She left the spoon on the floor and quickly scrambled back from under the bed to carelessly flop on its springy surface, wrinkling the bedspread.

Just as the rocking motion was dying out from the compressed bed springs, Michelle suddenly appeared in the doorway.