Ron Taylor - Stepdaughter in bondage

"I'd rather talk," Lara said softly. "You were okay in the bathroom. I felt your body heating, and your nipples throbbed, and you kissed me when I kissed you. I'm not trying to force you, Rebecca. If you don't want to do it, that's perfectly fine with me. It's your body and your decision."

"That's just it," I said. "You mentioned force." She looked at me curiously. Were her eyes brightening, beginning to sparkle? And if so, why should they? "I told you I was kinky, and, well…"

I told her a cleaned-up version of the story. I changed names and places, so that if anyone came to ask her questions she might not connect Rebecca Lee Butler, fugitive, with the Rebecca she'd picked up on the highway. Though God knew why anyone should come to this house and ask Lara McMinn about a girl wanted by the Ohio police. Still, you have to keep your steps covered.

I told her about Norman and about Bucky, how I'd gone ahead and screwed, with them because I really wanted to – only I didn't really want to, once it got started, and I didn't feel anything except a lot of pain in the ass while it was going on. And I told her about Tony, how he'd raped me the night my mother died – tied me to the bed and fucked the shit out of me. And how I'd turned on like crazy, coming in fountains under him, even if I was tied up and hating him every second while he was screwing me. I glided over the details of what happened after he had finished, just said I'd run away from home and wouldn't go back.

And I told her about Jerry Cornelius, this afternoon, just before she had the kindness to stop and pick me up. He'd raped me too, taken me when I didn't want to be taken, and I'd fought him, fought him courageously until the whole scene started turning me on… again. And only the revulsion I felt toward myself when it was over had led me to pick up that wine bottle and threaten to brain him with it, had gotten me tossed out of the van into a mud puddle.

"Do you see?" I told her finally. "I can't respond to sex. Not normally. I mean, other people can, and I guess they have a good time, but I have never gotten turned on in my life unless…"

Lara nodded. Her face looked cloudy. I guessed she was pretty disgusted with me. Well, that made two of us. She was nice and she had some nice ideas too, but I just couldn't get into the flow of them. The sooner I got going, the better it would be.

She slid off the bed and walked across the room to a large double-door cabinet. She opened the door and I saw that, inside, it was fixed up as a bar. Several decanters, glasses, ice bucket, the whole works. Lara looked over her shoulder. "Would you like something to drink? A glass of wine, perhaps?" I shrugged and nodded. She poured two glasses of red wine and came back to the bed.

I took mine, waiting till she'd sipped at hers. She looked at me over the rim of the glass in her hand, and her eyes had a funny expression. "So," she said, raising her head. "You don't turn on unless you're being raped or brutalized, or whatever?" I nodded, blushing.

Lara's hand jerked back and she flung the contents of her wine glass into my face. I blinked furiously, raised my hand to wipe the liquid out of my eyes. She grabbed my wrist. "Okay, bitch," she said with a snarl. "I think you're about to be raped."

She jerked the glass of wine from my hand, spilling a little of it onto the bedsheets. The stain was red and it spread swiftly. Wine was still running down my face, some of it getting into my mouth. It was the first taste I'd had of Lara's wine and I couldn't help noticing it was very good, much more delicate and lingering than the cheap red wine I'd drunk before.

Lara was breathing heavily, and her eyes seemed to glow red, like burning coals. She pushed me down onto the mattress, then leaned across my prone body and opened the top drawer on the little cabinet beside the bed. I heard clinking, and she turned around, holding a pair of shiny metallic handcuffs. I'd seen them on television but never in real life. "These are for you," she said, then grabbed my wrist.

I said "No!" but she'd already snapped one end of the cuffs around my wrist and she was fastening the other end to the nearest of the bed's corner posts. It snapped and I spun my head around, eyes verifying that I was indeed handcuffed to the bed. There was no doubting that fact. I pulled my hand and the metal bonds snapped taut and strong. "My God," I said, "You're crazy, what are you…"

Lara cupped my chin in one of her hands. "If this is the only way I can get you, really get you, then I'm perfectly willing to do it this way, darling," she said. She squeezed the dimple in my chin and then she got something else from the cabinet drawer. I didn't see what at first, because I was looking in the other direction, at the connection of handcuff and bedpost. Where the steel ring fit around the post, I could see a definite notch, that cut into the varnish of the wood, almost as if.

"And this," Lara announced, crawling down the bed. She grabbed my left foot and stroked me from knee to ankle very tenderly. When her hand came up, she was holding a long strip of leather with a band at one end. She slipped the band over my foot, tucked it round my ankle, pulled till the leather fit snugly but not painfully tight, then began to tie the other end of the strip to the bedpost.

"Wait," I said, struggling. To be honest, I don't believe I struggled very much. I was bound now, left foot and right wrist, and I couldn't have gotten off Lara's bed if I'd wanted to. She knelt, naked, at the foot of the bed watching me, and I saw a pink flush spread down her face, onto the slopes of her small heaving tits. Her nipples were blood red and an inch long. She was breathing hard again, staring at me. It was the same expression I'd seen in my stepfather's face last night, as he looked down at my helpless body before crawling aboard and raping me so savagely – but it was different, too.

Tony's ayes had been full of savage, animalistic passion, but there was a certain tenderness in Lara's despite the glowing arousal she displayed. Somehow I was certain, looking up at her, that she didn't intend to hurt me. But I was helpless, once again, and the old familiar heaving inside. My tummy began to take place. That strange, new Rebecca was coming out of me, taking command. I brought my free leg aver, tight against the leg that was fastened to the bedpost, and I began to work it nervously, as if I were scratching an itch without using my hands.

There was an itching. In my pain, concentrated heavily around the lips of my cunt. And all the leg scratching in the world couldn't stop that itch. Still, I kept working my leg, and Lara's eyes drifted down me, saw the motion. She cupped her small high tits, nipples standing out between, her clutching fingers, and I heard her sigh in a deep but feminine tone.

"Yes," she said finally, "I think you really do turn on this way." She laughed, and one of her hands abandoned a tit, stole down to touch me just above the knee. Her fingers walked up my skin and my free leg slid to the side, giving her access. She leaned forward and one of her breasts touched the leg that was tied to the bed. I felt her nipple hard and very warm against me. I shivered and I murmured, weakly.

"No," I said, but I don't think I meant no.

The point of her chin came to rest on my abdomen, halfway between navel and pubic triangle. Her tits were lying on my thigh now, and the nipples throbbed against my skin. I stained with my handcuffed right arm, felt the steel link grind on my flesh. It was proof positive that once again I was being made a prisoner of sex. A little cry came through my lips. I don't know exactly what it signified to my ears and mind, let alone to Lara's.

She turned her face down and began to breathe across my belly. It was ticklish, stimulating breath, warm and moist, and my stomach tossed up and down. Her lips touched me, and she held on, the way she'd done kissing my mouth. My free hand waved wildly in the air above me. Possibly I could have pushed her head away with it, but the thought never entered my mind.