Karen's Beginnings

Story Codes: (As currently mandated by Anna.) (This is the ‘Fine print’). Bondage tale - Karen’s Initiation. Latex & Rubber tale - Karen’s Initiation. Mummification tale - Karen’s Initiation. Out of Season clothing (Hot) tale - Karen’s Initiation. Perverted Sex Play tale - Karen’s Initiation. Public Exhibition tale - Karen’s Initiation. Story Codes: Condiments; Delivery; Eye Lashes; Litter Box; Pizza; Roast Beef; Scarf; Ski Suit This narrative covers the aforementioned subjects along with other rather gross and revolting elements. It might offend anyone or everyone completely. Do not read it! - If you must, do so at your own peril. Several of my tales feature a number preceding the title, and many include dates. These denote their publication order. Although one tale isn’t strictly a continuation of another, they occasionally reference events from earlier stories. I attempt to provide references when this occurs. This particular story has numerous references to prior tales, which I haven’t bothered to point out explicitly. First-time readers shouldn’t find this significantly distracting. Characters: Me, My wife, Karen. 25 – Karen’s Initiation. – Part 1. 09/13/09 The Mistress had introduced a ‘mystery lady’ into our play sessions quite some time ago. I never knew who she was, nor did I ever get to see her face. This woman would appear at random intervals when my Mistress had me bound. She would either take charge or assist the Mistress with tormenting me. Once, she even placed both my partner and myself in bondage and proceeded to torment us for that weekend; it seemed pre-arranged by the Mistress without my knowledge. It bothered me that I couldn’t identify her. The Mistress rarely discussed this person, and when she did, she gave cryptic responses like ‘you have seen her before’ and ‘Perhaps you will see her again and can ask her yourself.’ For all I knew, she could be our next-door neighbor. Every time we met, I was bound, blindfolded, and usually gagged—a poor moment to request an introduction. The best clue I had was the sound of her voice. While these answers left me somewhat unsatisfied, I trusted my partner’s judgment enough not to challenge her decision aggressively. One day while browsing online, it struck me that our cell phone records might help unmask this lady. Indeed, with a bit of effort, I identified Karen. When confronted with overwhelming evidence proving I knew who she was, she admitted guilt. I recruited her to assist in my retribution against my partner, and when the time came, I subjugated both Karen and my wife, whisking them off to Las Vegas for a three-day weekend dressed as a little girl and her Mommy. Karen, expecting to play a dominant role at home for perhaps a day or two, was rather caught off guard. As it was Karen’s first experience being a sub, I tried to go easy on her, and she ended up loving the experience. Now that we had been back from Las Vegas for a few weeks, I wondered where Karen would fit into what had previously been a very happy monogamous relationship between my wife and me. I loved my wife and was more than content with our marriage. I wasn’t about to let another woman cause problems there. I was quite willing to allow Karen to join us occasionally. Since my wife brought Karen into our lives, I assumed she felt the same way. To preserve our marital bond, we all needed to know and clearly understand Karen’s place in our dynamic. I worried that jealousy, envy, or rivalry might eventually develop between the two women. I also felt we needed a more formal method of integrating Karen into our plans and determining her specific role and timing. Karen definitely possessed her own personality and ideas; she was certainly no pushover in this regard. On the other hand, Karen was good at being part of the team. She voiced her opinions but seemed quite willing to go along with a decision if that had been made. The three of us scheduled this weekend to formally initiate Karen into our group and answer any lingering questions through discussion. Of course, we weren’t just going to sit around talking; Karen was ours to play with for the weekend, and it was now Friday evening. The plan was for all of us to meet at our home after work. Karen had been instructed to come straight from her job. My wife and I arrived by design just before Karen. It had been agreed that Karen would be the submissive this weekend. If she were truly to join in our play, she would have to be a switch like my wife and me. She had proven herself capable as a dominant on many occasions, but lacked real experience as a submissive; this weekend marked her first true introduction to that side. Karen looked somewhat nervous as she walked up the front path carrying a small overnight bag. “Drop it,” I said as I opened the door, pointing to the floor beside the entrance. Karen dropped the bag where I indicated just inside the doorway. “You’re mine today” I said, attempting an evil grin as the door closed behind her. “You know the routine, strip!” I had been waiting to say that line to Karen for longer than it took me to realize who she was. Karen looked somewhat startled, gave a quick glance around unsure of what to do next, then slowly began unbuttoning her blouse, her cheeks flushing reddish and betraying her embarrassment. Dropping first her purse and then the blouse atop her overnight bag, she removed her shoes and socks, aligning them on the floor beside the bag before fumbling with her pants, which soon joined the pile. Karen now stood in her panties and bra, seemingly unsure of what to do with her hands. She gave me a look as if asking if this was sufficient. No words were spoken, but with a slight shake of my head, I indicated she wasn’t quite finished. If anything, Karen turned even redder as she reached behind her back to unclasp her bra before shrugging it off onto the growing pile of clothing on the floor. Reluctantly she slid her panties down her legs and added them to the heap. Karen was now naked as a newborn. I took in the glory of her firm body and gentle curves. Pulling a pair of handcuffs from my pocket, I grabbed her left arm and with one swift motion entrapped her wrist within the steel bond. Submitting to the inevitable, Karen turned slightly and moved her right arm behind her back. Almost instantly, a matching cuff encircled her right wrist, emphasizing her helplessness by trapping her hands behind her back. “You know what they say,” I softly whispered into her ear, “once a female takes off her clothes and allows herself to be immobilized she ceases to be human but becomes a product to be dealt with.” “You know the way upstairs,” I said as I gave her a gentle shove toward the stairs. Karen ascended and made her way into the master bedroom where my wife was reading a book, waiting for her. “Hey honey, look what I found.” as I followed Karen into the room. Karen entered and stood at the foot of the bed, unsure of exactly what to do or what was expected next. I climbed onto the bed and sat beside my wife, who placed her bookmark and set the book on her nightstand. Karen fidgeted, betraying her discomfort with not being able to hide her nakedness. “So how was your day at work honey?” I intentionally turned my attention toward my wife, allowing Karen to bask in her discomfort and humiliation. My wife and I chatted casually about

our day for a few minutes. “Are you hungry?” I asked my wife, still ignoring Karen who continued to fidget. “Yes, dinner would really be great,” she replied, “I suppose we should do something with her before we eat though.” “You’re right, of course. I’ll take care of the top half, you do the bottom,” I suggested. I grabbed several pieces of rope and a ball gag from my nightstand as I got off the bed. I buckled the gag so that it hung loosely around Karen’s neck. This was more of a reminder to her that there would be dire consequences should she choose to speak.

Unlocking Karen’s handcuff, I used the rope to bind her arms behind her back, binding her forearms together with her right hand bound to her left elbow and vice versa. When I had finished her hands were secure and in a relatively comfortable position that she should be able to maintain for quite some time.

My wife had retrieved and placed a skirt on Karen. In feminese this would be called a tutu with loads of stiff lace called tulle holding the actual shirt in pretty much a horizontal position. She then applied leather cuffs to her ankles and fastened them together with a hobble chain of about eight inches, just enough to allow her the ability to walk with some effort and to navigate the stairs within our home if she were careful.

I stepped back to get a better look at Karen. “Let’s see, you’ll probably need something to put on those tits of yours,” I observed. Indeed Karen had wonderful breasts. They weren’t all that large. In fact, some might say they were small, but they were firm perky and beautifully shaped even without the aid of a bra.

I walked over to my nightstand and grabbed something out of the drawer. Walking back to Karen I reached out and began to gently massage her breasts gently kneading her nipples between thumb and forefinger while cupping and massaging the rest of the breast with my palms and remaining fingers. Within no time Karen’s nipples hardened.

When this happened, I simultaneously clipped a set of nipple clamps to both nipples. From each of these clamps hung a small brass bell. These bells were mounted in such a way that they hung freely from each breast. Each of these bells had a rather loud sharp clear tone that could easily be heard throughout the house.

Not being used to nipple clamps, Karen winced as she looked on in horror as her nipples were placed in painful bondage. Karen knew better than to speak, but she pleaded with her eyes for me to remove the clamps. I pretended not to notice her unspoken pleas.

Karen followed my wife downstairs to the kitchen and I followed Karen. It was rather amusing watching Karen making every effort possible to descend the stairs while trying her hardest to keep her breasts level and steady so that the bells would remain silent. As hard as she tried, and I can certainly attest to her Herculean efforts, she failed miserably at this task.

Naturally, the fact that her hands were securely bound behind her back didn’t help, nor did the short hobble that forced her to descend the stairs sideways, planting both feet on each step before attempting to descend to the next one. Descending the stairs while hobbled was a new experience for her and she seemed to be somewhat unstable and uncomfortable with the procedure.

When we arrived in the kitchen I indicated a stool, which had been placed at the end of the table for Karen to sit upon. Karen sat and fidgeted some more. Of course, her fidgeting provided us with a steady serenade with the chimes from her bells. It had been clear that Karen did not like displaying her bare breasts and the bells certainly exasperated that situation.

Karen was the type of girl who would naturally not only volunteer but also just step in and assist with the preparation and serving of dinner. With her hands bound as they were, this was not possible and much against her nature she was forced to sit and watch someone else do the work. The stool that we had provided for Karen was a simple wooden stool with no back and no padding; as such it was sure to provide an uncomfortable seat for extended sitting. Indeed, this is why we had chosen this particular piece of furniture for her.

While Karen continued to fidget my wife and I served dinner.

Karen seemed surprised when my wife and I sat down to dinner. Both my wife and I had a full plate of food in front of us. Karen had none. As we sat down to our meal, we began to discuss Karen. The question at hand was how Karen would fit into our games.

In the past, we decided who would be on top by randomly selecting pink or blue cards. Should we add a third color, and what would those colors indicate? Since Karen had been admonished not to speak unless asked a direct question she wasn’t really part of the conversation; she was really more of an observer.

Up until now, Karen had mostly been invited to play with us by my wife (Since I had no idea who Karen was at that time). My wife had always assigned her to a dominant role as either the primary or more often a secondary dominant. The two women had worked well together in this arrangement.

Once I had entrapped Karen and exposed her as my wife’s accomplice, Karen and I had also developed a friendly relationship as she and I worked well together as well. I suggested that we basically maintain this system. The changes would include my ability to invite Karen to join us. The dominant, either my wife or I, would still be selected with the pink and blue cards that we currently use.

The dominant would then have the authority to assign Karen either a dominant or submissive role. My wife seemed to be agreeable to that idea and we decided to consider it further at a later date. Of course, Karen was still an observer to this discussion and had not been consulted.

We had roast beef, baked potatoes and corn for dinner. After cutting most of my meat and potato I began to eat. After I had a mouth full of food I drew Karen’s attention by flicking one of her bells. As she turned to give me a stern look I shoved a fork full of beef into her mouth.

My wife and I both continued to feed her even without really paying any attention to her as we talked primarily about her, as though she wasn’t there. This feeding was done by shoving a fork full of food in her general direction from time to time. Karen quickly learned to keep a lookout for food being shoved in her direction and to grab what she could as it was offered.

As we finished dinner Karen spoke up “Please Mistress, Master, I need to use the restroom.” She was looking at me when she finished her statement. I gave her what I had hoped was a satisfied but still evil smile and looked at my wife indicating to Karen that I was deferring this response to my wife.

• My wife and I had many parts of the weekend pre-planned, and this had been one of those parts. We had agreed to try to make our decisions and/or commands look spontaneous even if they weren’t.

• We had been careful when Karen had arrived to make sure that all of the bathroom doors had been closed although locking was unnecessary. This ensured that without the use of her hands, Karen would be unable to sneak into one and use it without our permission.

As Karen directed her attention to my wife a smile spread across my wife’s lips. “Why certainly dear,” she said sweetly. “That should be no problem at all. You see, that’s why we left the litter box over there in the corner for you.”

Karen looked in the corner at the litter box. It consisted of a large rectangular plastic dishpan surrounded by numerous layers of newspaper and slightly more than half filled with kitty litter. Karen knew that we didn’t have a cat!

Then she looked down at the tutu that she wore; it was indeed very short, barely covering her privates and had been chosen because it was a true skirt with no encumbrances between her legs.

“No need to ask dear, you’re free to go any time you feel the urge,” my wife assured her. To be honest I certainly had no objection to this however this had definitely been

It was my wife’s idea. A few days earlier, when we discussed what would happen to Karen, she admitted that the litter box was one of the most humiliating concepts I had proposed and forced on her before. Karen’s reaction was priceless; it was clear she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. However, looking at both of us with the reality of the litter box looming ahead, she quickly convinced herself we weren’t joking.

Karen remained seated on her stool. Honestly, I didn’t expect her to jump up and squat over the litter box right in front of us—not that a cat usually goes before strangers anyway. The best outcome for Karen would have been if my wife and I had left her alone while we occupied ourselves elsewhere. But to Karen’s dismay, my wife and I decided to enjoy dessert and a second cup of coffee before clearing the dishes and moving to the living room to watch TV. Sitting there watching us drink our coffee—and being considerate enough to bring one for her too—must have made her need feel even more urgent.

Karen joined us in the kitchen-adjacent living room as we picked out a movie, where she was assigned a spot on the floor between my wife and me just in front of the couch. Shortly after the previews ended and the feature began, Karen quietly got up and drifted toward the kitchen. We had turned off the lights there when we left earlier, though some light filtered through from the living room. I could hear Karen shuffling around inside.

I pictured exactly what she was experiencing. With her ankles tightly hobbled, she couldn’t spread her feet wide enough to straddle the litter box properly. Her hands bound behind her back threw off her balance if she tried to squat over it. The sounds of her struggle continued for quite a while. Then, just to add to her torment, I called out, “Do you need some help in there?” Karen quickly replied, “No Master, thank you, I don’t need any help.” I’m sure she would have given almost anything to keep me from walking into the kitchen at that moment. Deciding another opportunity might arise, I left her to solve it on her own.

After a long time, Karen wandered back into the living room and reclaimed her seat on the floor in front of the couch. Eventually, the good guys defeated the bad ones, the hero and heroine lived happily ever after, and the movie ended. We decided it was getting late and time to put Karen to bed for the night. We herded her upstairs into the guest bedroom.

My wife is a skilled seamstress and had been busy making special sleepwear for Karen. This particular garment could be described as a poor man’s version of a “sleep sack.” She started with an ordinary standard mummy-style sleeping bag, removed the zipper, and sewed up that opening. Next, she stitched seams down either side to create what amounted to sleeves or arm pockets on the inside walls. Additionally, there was stitching along the bottom center to produce individual leg sheaths. You had to slither down into the bag from the top opening. With these arm sheaths and separate leg compartments, it became a much more difficult task than crawling into a regular sleeping bag—though this process was greatly helped by assistance from another person.

That second helper laced the top opening closed and pulled the hooded part around Karen’s head. Finally, the enclosure could be sealed with several padlocks fitted through grommets provided for that purpose. Once encased inside, there were almost a dozen wide nylon straps to buckle around the bag, ensuring the wearer was tightly secured. Needless to say, you needed help getting out of this contraption.

We assisted Karen in putting on her new special sleepwear. I added a blindfold, buckling it behind her head before enclosing her head within the hood. Once she was securely tucked in, it was clear that Karen could barely move at all. I gave her a kiss and said, “Goodnight, sleep tight” (pun intended), then turned off the light and left the room. Since it was summer and a rather warm evening, I didn’t think Karen would need extra blankets; she had been wrapped tightly in this heavily insulated sleeping bag.

• o O o -

Sunlight streamed into the bedroom, waking my wife and me up. Karen’s blindfold likely prevented her from being bothered or awakened by the morning sun. I hauled myself out of bed and staggered to the bathroom for our natural morning call. On my way back, I detoured into the guest room to check on Karen, who was still lying exactly as we had left her.

Back in bed, I rolled over and fondled my wife, who gave a satisfying groan as she reached over and grabbed my rapidly hardening member. It wasn’t long before my wife and I lay next to each other ‘Basking in the afterglow.’ “Why don’t you get Karen up while I start breakfast?” my wife suggested.

Karen still hadn’t moved when I entered the guest bedroom to wake her, which wasn’t surprising since she was so tightly bound that movement was nearly impossible. I removed the numerous straps holding the sleeping bag around Karen’s body. She groaned as she realized there was another person in the room and groaned again upon realizing she was being released from her bonds.

I took off the padlocks, unlaced the top closures of the bag, and then removed Karen’s blindfold. She squinted as her eyes slowly adjusted to the sunlight streaming through the window. Extracting Karen from the modified sleeping bag required more effort than putting her in it had. During the night she perspired heavily inside the insulated bag, causing the nylon lining to cling lovingly to her naked body.

Karen seemed to have mixed emotions: thrilled to get out of the bag but not entirely keen on displaying her naked form before me. Realizing she was somewhat modest about her body, I had no reservations touching any part of her lovely figure.

Once Karen had been extracted from the sleeping bag, I took great delight in strapping our arm binder onto her. I love how this garment looks on my wife, and perhaps even better attributes to display with Karen. When fully and tightly laced, Karen’s breasts stuck out proudly. I couldn’t help but fondle them before installing the nipple clamps with bells attached—clamps she seemed to hate so much.

Finally, I replaced the tutu she had worn last evening along with the leather ankle cuffs featuring an eight-inch hobble.

Karen and I arrived in the kitchen just as my wife was finishing breakfast preparations. We started off with coffee. I ensured Karen received a large cup, helping her drink it since she lacked use of her arms. We also gave her a large glass of orange juice with a straw so she could manage that independently. Naturally thirsty from losing moisture through perspiration overnight, she didn’t quite catch on to what was happening during breakfast until her bladder became very full.

Suddenly, as my wife and I sat talking leisurely, she remembered the litter box. Of course, what I had been banking on was that once the call of nature struck, Karen would realize she couldn’t (didn’t want to or wouldn’t) go in front of us. This mental realization made her need feel even greater. Karen began anxiously squirming on her stool.

After another half hour, you could see the discomfort on her face as desperation set in. “You might as well give in and get it over with dear,” my wife advised as she bent down to remove the hobble between Karen’s ankles.

“Because we’ll probably just sit here until you have to do it anyway, after all we do have all weekend”. To emphasize the point we picked up our conversation as though the previous comments hadn’t been made. Of course, Karen just couldn’t believe what she was hearing. To make a long story short she squirmed for a little longer and eventually when she thought that my wife and I were engrossed in conversation she rose and headed for the litter box. The show was well worth the wait. Karen walked over the litter box and straddled it with her feet. I could only wonder what she had done last evening when her ankles were so closely hobbled preventing such a move. With her hands and arms entrapped in the arm binder her balance was thrown off making her heavy in the back. To compensate for this she had to lean forward. Finally she squatted over the box and let loose with a considerable gush of urine, which fell into the litter box between her splayed legs. Of course, a guy would have produced stream of urine that would have collected into a nice neat puddle in the center of the box. Karen had much less control and the shower of urine that she produced sort of sprayed randomly in droplets around the box nevertheless producing a puddle in the middle from a mini waterfall. Of course, some of it also ran down her legs moistening the newspaper around and under the box upon which she stood. One thing that most guys don’t even think about is that when they finish they just shake the last drops off. Women are used to using paper to remove any remnants. Karen of course did not have this option and unconsciously seemed to do a little dance to shake any lingering drops free. One could easily tell that she wasn’t really satisfied with the results achieved through that dance. Even before the breakfast dishes were picked up I took Karen upstairs. I removed her arm binder when we arrived in the master bedroom. “Take that thing off too,” I said, referring to the tutu as I headed for the closet. When I returned Karen stood there naked and blushing. Walking behind her I had little trouble forcing the relatively small ring gag into her mouth. I had deviously chosen a small ring so that the gag could be worn for a relatively long and extended period. I pulled the strap tightly and buckled it behind her head lifting her long hair to do so. I snapped a small padlock through the ring provided for that purpose in the end of the buckle pin. I also strapped the leather collar around her neck, again fastening the buckle with another small padlock. I then handed her the box that I had retrieved from the closet. “Put these on and then come downstairs” I said “And be quick about it!” I headed downstairs again. Within a very few minutes of my arrival in the living room Karen followed me into the room. She was dressed in the black and white lace trimmed French maids outfit that I had left for her, complete with black fishnet stockings and a ruffled skirt that was so short that it barely met the description of a skirt and which barely covered her privates. The suspenders holding her stockings were clearly visible below what we are calling her skirt. The bust was low cut yet tight enough to reveal as much cleavage as Karen could muster. Neither my wife nor Karen had what could be described as large breasts. Karen’s were only slightly larger than my wife’s. The firm and pert nature of these appendages more than made up their lack of volume. I have heard it said that ‘Anything more than a mouthful is wasted anyway’. As Karen walked into the room my wife took one quick look then rose and marched her back upstairs. A short time later the two ladies returned. Karen now wore a frilly lace maid’s hat that stood off the front of her head and was almost Tierra shaped. One had to wonder what held it to her head. The hat was not the only addition. The women had obviously gotten into their makeup and let me just say that Karen definitely looked as though hers had been applied by a lady that you might meet, or might approach you in one of the seedier sections of downtown. Karen still wore the ring gag but now almost iridescent bright red lips encircled the ring. A string of drool dribbled from her lips and pooled atop her breasts. It seems that ball gags make swallowing difficult, and inevitably drool leaks out around the ball. With a ring gag the wearer has almost no control, and drool just flows freely all over the place. I just love it when that happens. Her cheeks were flushed a far brighter red than nature could ever accomplish, and very heavy makeup was encrusted around her eyes. She wore fake eyelashes, as natural lashes couldn’t possibly grow that long. One had to wonder how much those lashes weighed and how she managed to keep her eyes open with them on. To say that her breasts looked larger would definitely be an understatement, since they were now absolutely huge and jiggled as she walked. Karen’s breasts now tightly stretched the material of the bust of the dress to its limit, which now just barely covered her nipples. It looked as though one or perhaps both of her large breasts might just fall, or perhaps pop out of the dress at any moment. Speaking of walking, Karen’s walk had changed somewhat too. I had little doubt that the extremely high spiked heals that she now wore had something to do with this but I also was quite sure that Karen now wears the rubber panties that my wife had dug out the other day. Let me just say that these panties have two protrusions between the legs, all right a large dildo and butt plug, that would be sure to keep Karen’s attention, keeping her on edge for quite some time. Karen had looked really hot when she had come down the first time. Now she looks really hot and really slutty as well. “You can start with the breakfast dishes,” my wife said casually as though this maid has been part of our staff of domestic servants for years. Karen headed into the kitchen and began picking up the few breakfast dishes that remained on the table and placing them into the dishwasher. The extremely long fingernails that adorned her hands made even this task somewhat difficult. It was Saturday, and I had some errands to run so I left my wife and Karen to do what needed to be done at home. When I returned home Karen who had added a pair of silky white elbow length gloves to her uniform greeted me at the door. I wondered how she had gotten the gloves on over those long fingernails. She also wore a smallish black purse, which had a long strap that hung over the opposite shoulder and fell diagonally across her chest. If anything this strap drew attention to, and seemed to enhance her now huge breasts as the strap cut between them on its way down to the purse, which rested on her hip. Her wrists were encircled with black leather cuffs, which were fastened with padlocks to a single D-ring attached to the center of a sturdy leather belt, which she wore around her waist. This belt was buckled and padlocked behind her back. The shackles had also been placed back on her ankles. She gave me the cutest curtsy as she opened the door for me. I thought I recognized a smile, but she was still wearing the ring gag and those ridiculously long eyelashes so it was difficult to tell what kind of expression she was really trying to convey. The entire front of her dress was quite soaked with her ever-present drool. I reached out and grabbed one of her breasts giving it a gentle squeeze. To be honest her huge breasts looked good and quite natural. Even with my squeeze I couldn’t tell where the natural breast ended and the enhancement began. I made my way into the living room leaving Karen standing by the front door. I was busy speaking with my wife when the doorbell rang. I intentionally happened to be in a position where I could see Karen and the door, but probably wasn’t easily visible to someone standing outside looking in. My wife stepped past me to a place where Karen could clearly see her as she

Look straight at Karen. She held a riding crop, which she slapped against her own leg with enough force that it must have stung. Karen looked visibly uneasy as she reluctantly reached out to open the door for the pizza delivery boy, repeating the courtesy she had shown me when I arrived.

“Hey, I remember this place,” the delivery boy said, giving Karen a thorough once-over as a smile crossed his face. “The last time I was here, there was some really strange dude dressed just like you.” He observed her closely. “It must be a weird family that lives here, but you’re definitely a real chick, aren’t you?” Karen nodded.

“I guess you can’t talk with that thing in your mouth,” he added. Karen shook her head.

“It sure does make you look hot though.” I wasn’t worried about him seeing me because his eyes were locked on Karen for the entire time. They both stood there, unsure of what to do next as seconds ticked by. Finally, the delivery boy shoved the pizza box toward Karen. She managed to grab one end with her bound hands.

She turned away from him, presenting her derriere, and hobbled in small steps up the stairs near the front doorway where I had set the box down earlier. Then she hobbled back to the delivery boy. The process repeated when he handed her a bottle of soda to complete the order. He watched intently, his gaze never leaving her body. She didn’t seem offended at all by presenting her backside; indeed, I guessed he wished there were more items for him to present to her.

I wasn’t sure if he would survive seeing Karen bend at the waist to set things down on the stairs. At that point, she was standing at about a forty-five-degree angle to me, allowing part of her front view. She looked down at her purse hanging from her hip; with her hands bound, she couldn’t reach it easily.

The delivery boy told her the price. Karen lifted her arms slightly and gave a little jump, trying to free the purse so it would bounce within reach. It was a lovely move because it made her huge breasts bounce noticeably. I had no idea how she managed to keep them from popping out of the bust of her uniform—perhaps it was just lock on Karen’s part.

I thought the delivery boy’s eyes were going to pop right out of their sockets. Unfortunately for Karen, the purse didn’t budge at all. The bouncing breasts may have caused some discomfort, but I doubted it was truly painful. Still, I was sure Karen wouldn’t try that move again. She looked from the purse to the delivery boy with pleading eyes and shook her head.

A few moments passed before chivalry kicked in. “It looks as though you need some help there,” he said timidly stepping forward. He slowly and carefully pulled the stuck purse from Karen’s side and placed it into her hands. It looked like he was afraid to touch her, although I doubt that Karen’s covering of drool was the reason.

Karen gave him a thankful look as she opened the purse and dug inside for her money. Judging by his expression, just allowing the delivery boy to get that close to Karen might have been enough for a tip.

Apparently, Karen wasn’t entirely familiar with what was stored in her small purse because the first thing she pulled out was a dildo vibrator, which apparently had to be removed to access items below it. When she finally found and pulled out the money, several packages of condoms were stuck to it. Even with her heavy makeup, it was easy to see that her face turned much redder as soon as she opened the purse.

The delivery boy watched intently as Karen struggled with her bound hands, trying to hold both the purse and the dildo while digging for money. The expression on his face as she removed the dildo was priceless, and the condoms only heightened his interest.

After handing back the purse, he had taken a step backward. Now having retrieved her money, Karen stepped forward toward him. He took it without even looking at it, his eyes still glued to Karen. She could have handed him newspaper cut to the size of dollar bills, and he wouldn’t have noticed or cared in that moment.

Karen shoved the dildo back into her purse as soon as she had found and removed the money, but several condoms dropped onto the floor. Karen did her best to ignore them. The delivery boy took a minute or two to examine what she had dropped, not quite believing his eyes. Once it struck him what the objects were, he seemed to take pity on her, realizing that with her hands bound at her waist, she couldn’t retrieve them from the floor.

Bending down, he picked them up. With Karen’s extremely short skirt, I am sure this maneuver gave him a great full view of all her privates. Of course, Karen was still wearing rubber panties with an attached dildo and but plug. The attachment points for these devices were clearly visible from the outside as reinforced circles in the front and back. These circles, along with the fact that the panties were made of latex, gave clear indication that they weren’t just ordinary underwear.

Karen’s face—and indeed her whole upper body—turned even redder than before. As the delivery boy stood up, he extended his hand with the condoms toward Karen. She held her purse open for him once again, displaying the dildo inside, and he dropped the condoms in. “You’re some hot chick,” he said, standing there as another pregnant pause emerged.

Karen gave him another curtsy as he slowly emerged from the haze that had overtaken him, hesitantly backing out of the door with his eyes still fixed on Karen. Once he cleared the opening, she gently pushed the door closed.

Karen retrieved the pizza from where she had left it on the stairs and carried it into the kitchen, setting it on the table. This process repeated as she hobbled back to retrieve the bottle of soda. My wife had already set out plates and glasses, so we sat down for lunch. Karen took her usual position on her stool.

I motioned for her to spin around so I could remove her gag to allow her to eat. She understood immediately and turned her back to me, allowing access to the padlock that held her beautiful mouth captive. Since Karen was unable to raise her hands to feed herself with them bound, my wife and I fed her. There was no doubt she felt the humiliation of being totally helpless.

“When you have finished with the lunch dishes you might as well get started with the laundry,” my wife casually suggested to Karen.

The last time Mistress had me do the laundry for her, it ran me ragged—going down to the basement laundry room to retrieve a single garment, taking it up to the second-floor guest bedroom to iron and fold, then into the master bedroom to put it away. Each individual garment followed this same process, requiring what seemed like hundreds of trips up and down the stairs.

Indeed, if this was her fate, I felt sorry for Karen. Unfortunately, work called me in for a few hours due to an emergency that shouldn’t have happened. I bid my farewells and left the women to their tasks.

It was well over four hours later when I finally returned home. I had called ahead so my wife knew I was on my way. Once again Karen greeted me at the door. She wore basically the same outfit as when I left, with the ring gag back in her mouth. Most of the drool on her dress had dried.

Now there is just a small puddle gathering between her breasts. It seemed Karen had endured a rough afternoon, looking tired and worn out. She offered me the usual curtsy as I entered, and I reached out to give her breast its customary squeeze. “You must be waiting for dinner?” I guessed. Karen shook her head yes, but with an expression that clearly showed she wasn’t pleased about it. I continued into the living room to resume my unobtrusive observation post, ensuring I would witness another good show.

Within minutes, the doorbell rang, signaling dinner’s arrival. I heard the crop snap in the kitchen as my wife gave Karen her usual incentive to open up. Karen glanced fearfully toward that direction before hurrying to the front door for a stunned delivery girl. The young lady stood there with her mouth hanging open at the sight of Karen. I was amazed the wad of gum she had been chewing didn’t fall out.

“Oh my gosh!” she stammered. “Are you all right?” Karen gave her an embarrassed look and nodded affirmatively while performing the obligatory curtsy. “Do you want me to call the cops?” the girl asked excitedly, pulling out her cell phone. Karen shot a panicked glance at her and frantically shook her head from side to side, making an ‘Oooo’ sound. “So, do you want to stay tied up like that?” Karen nodded yes. Some sort of understanding seemed to cross the girl’s mind. “You’re playing some kinda kinky games, huh?” Again, Karen nodded affirmatively, looking somewhat ashamed. Suddenly, the delivery girl remembered why she was there. “Where do you want this?” she asked, holding out a large paper shopping bag filled with Chinese food by its little rope-like handles. Karen held out her hands, still padlocked to the belt around her waist as best she could, and wiggled her fingers. The girl stepped forward and handed the bag to Karen, who then hobbled over and placed it on the stairs where she could retrieve it later. She returned to the mesmerized delivery girl.

Obviously having learned from her jumping experiment earlier that afternoon, Karen looked at the purse by her side, wiggled her bound hands, and gave a pleading look to the delivery girl as she turned and raised her hip with the purse toward her. It didn’t take long for the girl to realize Karen was asking for help accessing it. “So, you want me to help you with the purse?” asked the girl. Karen let out a relieved sigh and nodded yes. The girl pulled the purse free. “Do you want me to get the money, or can you do it yourself?” she asked, still apparently not fully comprehending that Karen couldn’t answer such a complex question verbally. Karen just gave her a look, unsure how to respond. It was clear I didn’t want the girl digging into the purse, so she extended her fingers as best she could and wiggled them at the girl. After a minute of thought, the girl placed the purse in Karen’s hands. Once again, Karen pulled out the dildo vibrator to reach the money stashed at the bottom. The delivery girl’s eyes bulged wide like saucers, and both girls’ faces began to redden. This time, Karen was more careful, managing not to drop the multiple packages of condoms that were once again mixed with her cash. The delivery girl watched intently as Karen removed the condoms while separating and counting the bills. “Looks like you’ve got quite a pile of toys there,” observed the delivery girl as Karen shoved the other items back into her purse. Karen nodded, handing over the money. “Can you eat with that thing in your mouth?” asked the delivery girl. Karen shook her head. “I guess someone has to take it out for you then?” guessed the delivery girl. Karen nodded and gave another curtsey. “Well, have fun,” said the girl as she turned and left. Karen shoved the door closed, retrieved dinner, and carried it into the kitchen.

With her hands restrained, Karen couldn’t lift the bag to place dinner on the table. “I’ll unpack dinner; why don’t you bring the dishes over?” I said as I took the bag from her and easily hoisted it onto the table. My wife had already gotten the dishes out of the cabinet and set them on the counter, now heating water for tea and searching through cabinets for other condiments. As before, Karen was unable to feed herself even with the gag removed. Chinese food isn’t the easiest to feed another person, but I’m sure Karen managed more than enough to satisfy her hunger. Fortunately, her huge breasts were there to catch what escaped her mouth. All three of us seemed very fond of Chinese food, and it is safe to say we all enjoyed the meal.

“Well, I think you’ve had a full and busy day,” I said. “It’s about time to get you ready for bed.” After last night’s experience, I’m not sure Karen was really looking forward to being put away again. From personal experience, I know the sack she has been bound in is by no means painful. The sleeping bag used is quite well insulated and provides plenty of warmth. Of course, on a warm summer evening like we were enjoying now, that wasn’t necessarily a welcome attribute. The modified bag itself restricts body movement significantly. When the nylon straps are pulled tight, any kind of movement becomes almost impossible. Most people aren’t used to sleeping while tightly bound, so restful sleep is nearly impossible. Sleep turns into brief periods of unconsciousness separated by long stretches of uncomfortable boredom. Karen was about to learn that on a ‘second night’ like tonight, as tired as she was, her body would submit more easily to allow itself the rest it desperately needed; thus, she would enjoy longer and more frequent unconscious periods. Nevertheless, this isn’t really an equal substitute for a comfortable bed’s restful sleep.

I marched Karen upstairs to the guest bedroom, which was temporarily hers. I unlocked the cuffs on her wrists from her belt. She stretched her arms to restart blood flow through them. Then I handed her a ring containing several keys to the remaining padlocks on her bonds and issued one of my favorite commands: “Strip!” The last garment removed was the rubber panties. I wasn’t sure if Karen was happy to get them off or sorrowful that she wouldn’t be able to enjoy their pleasures during the night. Somehow, I got a distinct impression that Karen herself had mixed emotions on the subject. I allowed her a brief trip to the bathroom to take care of her needs. “OK. You know how this works tonight, so into the sack.” I also knew from experience that while it wasn’t terribly difficult, it did take some effort to crawl in there. Karen was quickly learning this firsthand. Once she had situated herself within the bag, I laced the top opening closed and placed padlocks through the eyelets to ensure it stayed shut—not that Karen could get her hands anywhere near the laces anyway. Finally, I tightened the multiple nylon straps around the bag starting at the foot end. It wasn’t long before Karen became nothing more than a tightly bound package, secure for the night. ‘Snug as a bug in a rug,’ which was really a very close analogy.

• o O o - Warm sunlight streamed through the window. There was little I could do to stop it. Our bedroom window is situated such that it receives the morning sun. Since my wife and I are normally early risers, this does not

generally cause us any concern or problems, thus we had never bothered to invest in sun blocking shades. The day was already proving to be a warm one. Not excessively warm as to be unbearable, but warm nevertheless. I resigned myself to getting up. My wife was just beginning to stir. This being a Sunday I knew that it would be at least another twenty minutes before she was fully awake and got out of bed. My first stop, of course, was in the bathroom. The next chore was to get Karen up. I took my time removing the straps that tightly bound the package that contained Karen. There must have been a dozen of those straps. The modified sleeping bag that contained Karen was quite damp all over from her perspiration. Once I removed the lacing from the neck opening Karen was free to crawl out on her own. It took quite some effort for Karen to work her way out of the bag, not only because of it’s tight fit but also because the now wet nylon lining tended to cling rather tightly to her very moist skin. After a considerable struggle she managed to free herself from the bag. Once again I couldn’t help but notice what a beautiful woman Karen was, as she stood there totally naked in front of me awaiting my instructions. “OK.” I said, “Do your thing in the bathroom and then come back and we’ll see about getting you dressed for the day. Like many homes, only our master bedroom had an ensuite bathroom the remaining bedrooms shared a common bathroom so Karen headed for that. Not really having any specific plan in mind for this morning I looked in the closet to see what I could find for Karen to wear. It wasn’t long before my eye settled on something that I thought might look good on her, and yet is a little unusual. Soon Karen had returned from her morning chores and stood awaiting further instructions. I nodded to the clothes that I had placed on the bed and simply said, “You can start with those.” Karen quickly donned the sweat pants; sweat shirt, and heavy woolen sox that had been laid out for her. She looked as though she might be going jogging, although with today’s weather even in the relatively cool of the morning she was certainly overdressed for such an activity. I reached into the closet and grabbed a hangar that contained her next layer of clothing. The hangar held one of my wife’s outfits, which I had always thought looked really good on her when she had worn it. Not surprisingly it had been several months since I had last seen it modeled. Karen stepped into the pure white ski suit pants and pulled them up her body. They had a very high waist with a sort of overall design. The top of the pants came up nearly to her armpits with wide suspender type straps that went over her shoulders and fastened to the bib that covered her breasts. There was a matching pure white parka that covered her top. Before Karen got a chance to pull the zipper of the parka all the way up I stopped her. “There are a few accessories that go with that outfit” I said as I reached back into the closet and pulled out a box and then bent down to the floor of the closet and pulled out a pair of matching white snow boots which I handed to Karen. Karen put the boots on. As she stood to see what was next I surprised her somewhat by wrapping a scarf around her head. I started in front with a section that would drape over her right breast, wrapped the scarf up behind her head, brought it around and over her lower face covering her chin, mouth and nose, just barely leaving her eyes free so that she could see, and then continuing around the back of her head again finishing with a tail of the scarf that rested over her left breast. The scarf itself was more than porous enough that Karen would have no trouble breathing through it. Once the scarf was in place I lifted the hood and zipped the front of her parka closed. A buttoned flap covered the zipper and a drawstring pulled the hood tight. Finally I handed her a pair of matching heavy white winter gloves. This parka was really designed so that it could be worn either of two ways. Probably the most popular way bowed to fashion. This method was to zip the jacket up to somewhere just below the neck, or just above the breasts leaving the neck open. This allowed the hood to be pulled up and its outer edge could then be folded back. This displayed the fur trim on the hood and displayed the face very nicely. For our purposes we were going for the functionality method where the coat was fully zipped and buttoned. This pulled the hood closed around the face a little more. The outer edge of the hood could no longer be rolled back and the fur trim was folded in towards the face trapping a surprising amount of warm air primarily from ones breath around the face. With this method the hood provided much more warmth as it hid the face much more. This was a wonderful feature on really cold windy days as it kept the wearer as warm as possible. By the time she was fully dressed you could hardly see anything of the woman wrapped inside. If you looked very closely, you might see her eyes, but they were buried way back deep within the hood and hidden in the shadows by the fur trim of the hood. I knew instinctively that one side benefit of this hood was that it greatly restricted Karen’s field of vision. I always loved this outfit, and it looked as great on Karen as it did on my wife, although I have to admit that it may have been a little out of season at the moment. “I’d like to surprise my wife with breakfast in bed” I said. “Your job is to make that happen by making and serving breakfast. I was thinking of something simple and basic. Bacon, eggs, potatoes, toast and coffee should be sufficient.” Karen turned to look in the mirror, and then turned back toward me. These actions required that she turn her entire body as the clothing she wore somewhat restricted the movement of just her head. I have the feeling that she was trying to give me some kind of look, and probably one of ‘Those’ looks, but I really couldn’t see enough of her to be sure. “Well, get on with it” I admonished. “And remember there’s a penalty for not dressing properly.” My wife and I had a lengthy list of rules that covered our games and Karen was generally ‘Playing on our turf’ and as such at least most of our rules would apply to her as well. Clothing was a complicated issue for which we had developed a long list of rules. First of all, clothing was defined as anything worn on or in the body, thus it includes such things that people don’t think of as clothing such as jewelry or even a tampon. The rules that I had in mind included one that stated that all closures such as buttons, zippers, ties, etc. needed to be fully closed unless the dominant specifically stated otherwise. This meant for example that if you wore a shirt that had a collar with a zipper that was really designed to be partially closed leaving the neck open, by default you had to wear it with the zipper fully closed. Likewise, hoods had to be up and tightly fastened (Tied), etc. etc. The real clincher was that this also extended to simple things such as pocket flaps. If a pocket flap had say a snap or zipper closure and it wasn’t fastened a severe penalty could be imposed. Another rule said that once a piece of clothing was put on it became part of the ‘Uniform’ and must be worn properly and required the dominants explicit permission to remove it. Thus, if Karen put on an apron it became part of her uniform and she would require explicit permission to take it off. Even something like a ‘Pot holder mitt’ used to lift something off the stove or from the oven would fall into this category. The final rule (For my purposes) involved primarily undressing. It stated that each item had to be properly hung or folded and fully put away or properly stored before you could begin to remove the next item. This was often somewhat difficult. To be sure the natural tendency would be to remove everything first and then deals with the pile of clothi

ng. In a twisted sort of way, all these rules actually made sense. Even though they were sometimes counterintuitive, they were meant to make life more engaging (and tougher) for the submissive while keeping things fun for the dominant. I reasoned that since Karen was new to this world, she’d likely find the regulations confusing and hard to keep track of and follow. Small details often trip you up; the dominant just says ‘Here, put this on,’ and trying your best to be a good submissive, you do it without double-checking the garment properly. After some time passes, the dominant returns with an eye for detail ready to spot any mistake, leaving you in trouble.

Karen went downstairs to begin her duties while I wandered back up to the master bedroom to check on my wife. As I’d both suspected and hoped, she was still lying there thinking about getting up. “Lie down again and rest a bit,” I told her. “The maid is just starting breakfast for us, and I’m pretty sure we’ll be served in bed.” “Oh, that sounds lovely,” she replied. “I’ll be right back.” She got up and headed toward the bathroom. “I’m coming too; I want to check on the maid once more,” I called out after her.

I slipped quietly downstairs into the living room where I could see into the kitchen and watch Karen. She was busy getting coffee started, having pulled out paper filters only to find a clump of about fifty stuck together in her hand. Acting on instinct, she took off her right glove so her fingers would have more dexterity to pick out just one filter from the pile. Whap! The crop struck her rump unexpectedly. It was clear that because she was bundled up in heavy winter clothes, she barely felt it at all. Still, some pressure likely came through with the blow. She definitely jumped and turned around, startled by what had happened. “That’s one infraction already,” I shouted to her. “You are never allowed to remove any piece of clothing without my express permission. Whatever is on stays on unless you get specific authorization to take it off—unless physical harm is imminent. Were you in danger somehow?” “No master, I’m sorry, Master. It won’t happen again.” She quickly shoved her hand back inside the glove. “You should be grateful that I made things easy for you by giving you gloves rather than those thick ski mittens I love so much,” I reminded her. “Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”

[Continues in part 2.]