Postby Mister Mistoffelees » Thu Jul 18, 2013 5:34 am
I hope you're enjoying Paula's diary, everyone. Feedback would be nice so I know whether you really are enjoying it...
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Dear Sally,
Life had settled into a routine of sorts. Work during the day, and sometimes the evening, is pleasant. You know how much I enjoy quietude, dear Sally, and the library is very quiet most days. In the evenings, I’ve come to enjoy the company of my new roommates. Maggie likes to reminisce about Darius Allen with me, Hannah likes to talk about books (she’s very literary, Sally, almost as much as I am!). Krysten is more distant; she remembers, no doubt, the foolish crush I had on Tyler in those days and the foolish way I expressed it (I still cannot read Elizabeth Barrett Browning without blushing for my foolishness!). But she is still friendly, if a little reserved. Tricia, you know, has been perfectly wonderful to me, even after that embarrassing incident with Richie in our room. Whenever she’s not trying to talk me into joining her sorority this fall or talking about her work in the forensics lab (she’s drafted me as her study partner on DNA sequences and positions on chromosomes—she’s given me a cheat sheet and asked me to pop-quiz her at odd times on them), she talks about her family. But not in terms of her family, Sally—she always speaks of them as our family! She could have been very upset at the incident, but she’s not only been forgiving, but inclusive, as if I was already her sister-in-law! I can’t say how much I love that!
Then there’s Ginger! She is also busy, not only in the forensics lab, but also working her wait job at the Cook Pot, where she’s very popular. She never looks at me without an expression of intense but amused interest, as if trying to solve some sort of mystery I represent. She frequently asks after Richie and me, even going so far as to inquire how often we’ve used her lesson that night, and to wonder why I haven’t yet asked to borrow the ballgag she lent us that night. I always get extremely embarrassed, as you know, but that doesn’t seem to faze her; that expression of interest only seems to deepen. I knew it would come to a head someday, and, well, it finally happened! Now, let’s see if I can tell you about it without dying of embarrassment!
You know how impatient I’ve been this week with Richie off on his cross-country trip with his stepfather Dr. Miyazaki. Dr. Miyazaki often lately has joked about himself as “The Nipponese Picker,” and when he bought a rare Ford hot rod from someone on the West Coast, Richie was more than willing to accompany him on the trip to retrieve it. I do my best to not feel annoyed by his absence, especially since it will let him keep in touch with family and bond with Dr. Miyazaki. And of course he loves all sorts of cars and trucks! They both invited me along, but with work I had to stay here, so I’ve had to be content with texting and calling him. In fact, that was just what I was doing this evening in the living room after my evening at the library, while Ginger lounged with pizza she’d picked up from Big Mama’s (I went halves with her, so we were sharing) and watched another of her endless Criminal Minds marathons on our big living-room TV (another of Richie’s restoration projects, which let us get a 50-inch TV for almost nothing) as she does whenever she’s alone in the house, as she was except for me being there as well. Like I said, Sally, I was feeling impatient and querulous, so I did something I rarely do—criticize Ginger’s viewing habits. “I don’t get why you watch that show,” I said. “I mean, if you’re studying to be a profiler, why would you watch something like this? It’s…sort of like someone in med school watching Grey’s Anatomy! I would think that all the fictional parts would turn you off!” I didn’t really realize I’d said all that until I actually said it! I expected Ginger to be sharp in her reply, thus started to apologize. But she stopped me with that amused little smile she has so often on her face, like she was ready to have a long discussion showing off her expertise.
“Well…” she grinned, “it’s eye candy for one thing. All sorts of deliciousness for a sick mind like mine!”
“Well,” I admitted, “Thomas Gibson is good-looking, and Matthew Gray Gubler is cute in a way. And Shemar Moore…”
“And you’re texting that to your hubby?” Ginger snickered. I shook my head. “Well anyway, yeah, the guys have some definite hotness to them.” Her black eyes suddenly radiated a mischievous glimmer. “But there’s nothing like imagining all the ways I could corrupt A. J. Cook! Mmm-mm-good!” I knew she was playing me for a reaction, and I must have given her one! “Surely you don’t think I limit myself to just one gender, do you?” And all unbidden, my mind reeled back to the night in her room she introduced me to her ballgag! “You know what a pansexual is?” I shook my head, but my knowledge of prefixes was whispering unsettling suggestions to me! “Besides me, that is. Well, let’s just say we see the hotness in everyone!”
“Including me?” I managed to peep out without fainting! I remember imagining that she had been looking strangely at me that night, and what she had just said seemed to confirm it!
“Oh, don’t act so naïve, Paula!” Ginger scoffed. “Do you really think we’re that different?” I was astounded! Not that different? How could she even say that? But even before I could form words, she started again! “By which I mean that you’re a pretty willing little experimenter when it comes to sex! You swallowed that ballgag like it was a lollipop!” I tried to stammer out some kind of response—“Oh, and that overactive delicacy of yours? Yeah, I got that—I was just like that myself—oh, say, until I hit sixteen and stopped pretending about myself.”
“Well, then,” I said, recovering a little spirit, “tell me what you think I am. Profile me, profiler!” I was even a little angry!
“You are Anne of Green Gables as imagined by Tim Burton,” Ginger grinned. “Eager to spread your wings, expand your horizons, seek your kindred spirit, Jack Skellington and all! But you can’t let go of your delicate little provincial background, so you go to your BDSM playground with a great big blush on your face at your own boldness. Jack Skellington on the outside, little pink misses’ panties beneath, complete with a bow on the waistband!” How could she know that? “I saw your laundry, Anne Shirley!” she chuckled just as if she had heard me ask that question! “You have the wildest monkey sex in this house, and you can’t say the word f*** without dying of embarrassment!” Now I was horrified, because everything Ginger was saying had the ring of truth! “You want to be a bad little girl, but your provincial little conscience won’t let you do that without blushing because you’re being unladylike!” she snickered to herself as she typed a text into her own phone, then turned to me an expression which seemed almost sympathetic. “I was just like you, only a little younger. You have passions that drive you wild, but you’re too well-brought-up to not be ashamed of them. I guess that’s the difference between being a city girl and a country girl.” She smiled at a return text on her phone, then back up at me. “That’s what I meant when I said you were the most interesting girl who’s ever been here. Watching you is like watching me!”
“I…I can’t really be that…that…”
“Depraved?” Ginger giggled. “That’s the good little Wiltontown girl talking. I’d say imaginative instead. Adventurous. Willing.” And I found myself nodding, Sally! “And part of you is so undersexed with your hubby on the wrong coast that you’re half hoping I’ll drag you up to my room again and ravage you just like I could do to A. J. Cook!”
“No I’m not!” I protested. “I—I’m engaged, Ginger! I wouldn’t do anything disloyal to Richie, you know that! You know how much I love him! I’d never even think about it! I mean, even if it wasn’t cheating on Richie, I could never—never”—
“Shakespeare really got you right!” Ginger grinned naughtily. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much! I’d bet money you’ve wondered what it would be like if I grabbed you and tied you up nice and tight like the other night!” My heart nearly stopped, Sally, because she was right—I had daydreamt that at odd times over the past couple days, imagining what Ginger might do to me! But always my fidelity to Richie stopped me—I could never betray him! But again, I must have been transparent to Ginger, because she smiled widely and showed me her phone screen. “And I asked Richie if you could have a little playmate for tonight to tide you over until he got back. Check out what he sent me!” I looked, and it was really Richie! “do u wanna teach her nu tricks? cool if she wants 2!” I could hardly believe it! She’d actually asked him that? “Check in with hubby, Paula—he really told me that!” With shaking fingers, I typed my text to him—“really?” In seconds, my phone rang instead of texted—it was Richie!
“Wish I could be there, honey babe,” his deep rich lovely voice, quiet and confidential, said almost before I could answer the phone! “All that stuff Ginger taught us that night really got you going, you know! And Ginger says you’re feeling a little lonely. So if you want to, and you promise to show me what she teaches you, you can go play with her a little tonight! Just don’t forget me, okay honey babe?”
“Never, Richie!” I murmured into the phone, my emotions and desires all jumbled together. “I…”
“Oh, go ahead and tell him you love him, Anne Shirley! It won’t embarrass me, you know!”
“Anne Shirley?” he asked blankly.
“I’ll explain when you’re home, Richie,” I said, and under Ginger’s evil grin I managed to tell him I loved him, and his “Love you too, honey babe,” warmed and calmed me. Well, to be exact it calmed my conscience, because my body was still in the throes of such terribly conflicting feelings that my hands were shaking as I closed out my call!
“So give your conscience a little vacation, Anne Shirley!” Ginger snickered as she rose to her feet and turned toward the hallway. “I already promised him I wouldn’t go too far on you, just…well,” she winked, “if you want to find out what ‘not too far’ playing with me is, you’ll just have to come on upstairs!” And in a moment, she had fairly skipped out of the room and up the stairs to her room. She left me stewing in a sea of conflicting emotions, and I felt as naked as I’d been that night in her room with her and Richie! How could she have seen through me that easily? Was I really as depraved as she had suggested? Could I allow her to “play” with me, even with Richie’s permission? How would I feel if I allowed myself to do that? And what did she have planned for me up there? I had no answers to any of those questions, Sally—which is why I went up the stairs to my room!
I’ll resume this entry shortly, dear Sally. Tricia just called to let me know she will be spending the night at her home on Passmore Street tonight (all of us girls here at Chateau Snoop are very punctilious about letting someone here know where we are, something they learned from bitter experience), Krysten has already let us know she will be home with her mother and her sisters Chelsea and Ginny, and Hannah and Maggie just now pulled up in front of the house. I’m hoping that this night isn’t written on my face for them to see!
Dear Sally,
Fortunately for me, Hannah and Maggie were both so exhausted from their evening that they really paid me no attention when they came in a few minutes ago. They noticed me sitting here writing in the living room, but said nothing more that a “hi—good night” greeting on their way up the stairs. Fortunately, because if tonight wasn’t written on my face, it is clearly written on my wrists and ankles! Which is where I left off, dear Sally. The point where I had nerved myself, almost against my will—or at least part of it—to go up the stairs to Ginger’s room.
I was nervous, timid, even frightened on my way up the stairs and down the upstairs hallway. My mind was awash in lurid imaginings of vague tortures at Ginger’s hands—but still I could not resist the gravity of her invitation, which drew me inevitably up the stairs. A long moment standing at her closed door, and finally I knocked timidly. “Ye-es, who is it?” she called mockingly, since she knew I was the only one in the house. I managed to squeak out my name, so mixed-up I felt at that moment. “Who? Paula who?” I felt ridiculous answering with my full name; she was toying with me! But I managed to choke out her answer. A long moment, and then she called out, “Come on in—the door’s unlocked!” With a clammy, trembling hand, I opened the door and stepped inside.
What I saw inside the room was both startling and intriguing, Sally! I knew to expect the coils of rope and robe belts neatly arranged on her dresser top, but even though I also expected to see the ballgag she had used on me before sitting beside them, the actual sight of it set off a strange quiver over my flesh, as if seeing it made this “play session” real. The whip still hung on its place on the wall, the holed paddle beside it like before. But there were other items as well; pairs of what looked like fuzzy manacles or handcuffs, wide, folded-over black velvet cloths, long white feathers, and various other things I didn’t immediately recognize.
Then I saw Ginger. She stood before me in nothing but a bathrobe, with a naughty smile on her face. “Hello there, playmate!” she greeted me as I hesitated inside the door. “See all the toys I have here? There are more where these came from! Tell you what—have a nice relaxing little shower while I finish tidying up! You’ll be all nice and clean and relaxed for our play date!” I nodded and scurried off to my room for my shower things, and plunged quickly into a quick warm shower. Still stewing with mixed emotions, I hurried through, but hesitated when I finished. What should I wear? I wasn’t sure how I should be dressed for this strange “play date,” and in the midst of my confusion I merely slipped into my bathrobe! In any case, I rationalized that the night was very warm (which it was), which allowed me to nerve myself to go back to Ginger’s room dressed as skimpily as I was. But even at that moment I knew it was mere rationalization, Sally!
We went through the same routine at her door as we did before, and in moments I was back in the room, in which a few more items had been placed about, and Ginger stood in her own bathrobe with her own shower stuff. “My turn,” she said. “I imagine you’ll want to get a little comfortable while you wait for me,” she winked, and she gestured to the side of her bed. “You can just sit here,” she invited, and I sat down at the corner of the mattress. She gazed with a teasing smile at me as I sat, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “Of course, “ she added, “it might be a good idea to make sure you can’t run away on me now that you’re here!”
“What are you going to do?” I asked, my heart in my throat.
“You just relax, Paula,” she smiled, not teasing but warm. “Nothing tonight is going to hurt you. I promised Richie that. But if you’re going to play, you have to let yourself really play. And for now, I’m making sure you can’t run.” And she came around to my seat—with a pair of the fuzzy manacles in her hand! “We’re starting slow, Paula,” she said, kneeling at my slippered feet. “Just like I said, I’m making sure you can’t run away while I shower.” My breath caught as she took my left ankle and closed one of the manacles—I guess the proper term is fetters—around it with the click of a lock. The grip was soft yet firm, and I instantly felt the familiar electric tingle begin to percolate all over my body! The other fetter was joined to the first one by only a couple links of chain, no more than three inches apart at most, and with a soft titter Ginger took my right ankle and locked the other fetter onto it. Instinctively I tried my newly-fastened fetters, and the retraining grip and the soft jangle of the chain links stoked a blush to my face which began to radiate all over me! “I think this will keep you here,” she remarked with a smile as she slipped my slippers off my feet, leaving me sitting fettered on the corner of her bed. “Just imagine, Paula,” she intimated as she rose and gathered her shower materials, “Two little cuffs, a couple inches’ worth of chain, and already it’s almost impossible for you to escape me! If you were to try to run away, you could barely even make it to the stairs with your feet chained like that! And you know that if you tried, I’d catch you immediately. One little pair of cuffs, and you’re my prisoner! Imagine that!” she giggled, closing the door behind her as she went for her shower.
“Imagine that!” she had said, and oh, Sally how I did imagine! She had used that very word in our conversation—imaginative—and now it began to carry me away. The grip around my ankles was soft, almost undetectable with my feet still, only the cloying warmth of the fuzzy lining reminding me that they were even locked onto me. But I could not resist movement, and with each small movement, the jangle and pull of the chain held my feet securely. And each catch of the chain reminded me that I was indeed restrained, my legs bound! Bound! Gingerly I stood on my fettered feet, testing the chains which bound my legs, and each shuffling step stopped by the chain reinforced my state upon my imagination! Bound! I was a bound prisoner! And the word and the insistent grip of the chain stoked the electric pulse crackling over my flesh, and it began to concentrate in those familiar places. With nothing more than a small pair of fetters, I was Ginger’s bound prisoner! I tried to cool my imagination—was I this easily aroused?—but the grip of my fetters would not allow me to restrain my imagination or my bursting arousal!
I don’t know how long I was left alone to contemplate my captivity, to luxuriate (yes, that’s the right word, Sally!) in my fetters, but it felt like only scant moments before the door opened to reveal Ginger. She had scrubbed herself scrupulously clean, the breezy scent of her body wash drifting to me. She wore a black sports bra and a silken pair of briefs which clung tautly to her lithe frame—“It’s going to stay warm tonight,” she explained with a teasing smile, “and that’s even without us playing! I hope you dressed cool under that robe, playmate!”
A feeling of recklessness overtook me, my arousal speaking for me—“I dressed as coolly as you can get!” I heard myself giggle, again testing my fetters and letting them squeeze even more arousal across my flesh. Already my self-control was slipping on my arousal!
“Well, aren’t you a bad little girl!” Ginger teased, striding over to the materials arranged on her dresser. “Blushing like a good little girl, though,” she noted with a twinkle as she picked over her supplies, and my heart skipped as I wondered which of those things she intended to use on me! “Funny thing about imagination,” she philosophized lightly as she mused over the items, “the less input it gets, the more it runs away with you. They’ve done experiments about that, you know,” she said, picking up the long, wide black satin cloth. “Deprived test subjects of all their senses. Hearing, sight, touch, taste, even smell. The more isolated the subject got, the more out of control their imagination got. Imagination fills in what the senses can’t provide.” And I knew what she intended first!
“You’re going to blindfold me,” I murmured, my face turning scarlet.
“Sight is our most-used sense,” Ginger said. “When it’s taken away, you can picture yourself anywhere. And being deprived of your sight leaves you remarkably dependent. Almost helpless, if you think about it.” While she spoke, she had climbed up on the bed and knelt herself behind me, my blindfold at the ready. “If you try to take it off, I’m going to punish you!” she teased as she reached around me to place the blindfold over my eyes. “Glasses off!” I promptly complied, slipping my glasses off my nose and folding them in my lap. As soon as I had done so, Ginger lifted the cloth and secured it over my eyes, leaving me in deep blackness. My heart surged again as she tied off the knot and she scurried away off the bed; I was plunged into darkness, alone yet not alone, imprisoned in the darkness yet knowing with a flush of arousal that Ginger was there, ever so close but still so far! I heard her bare feet pad softly on the floor, then I gasped as she lifted my glasses from my hands and spirited them away. “You can’t run, and you can’t see,” she said, adjusting my blindfold to cut off even the least ray of light around its edges. “A little bit of metal, and a little bit of cloth, and you’re all but helpless against me. Can you feel your helplessness, Paula?” she intimated. “How powerless you are in my hands?” Oh, but I did, Sally! How powerless I felt—and how aroused!
‘Yes,” I murmured with a humid sigh. “Like…like…”
“Like you’re in two worlds at once, right?” she asked, and I could sense her moving around me. Already I was beginning to be able to guess where she was by the scent of her body wash, but my imagination was left to fill in every other detail—what exactly she was doing, the expression on her face—just as she had said, as if I was in two worlds at once! One was inside my darkened world, trapped inside the black velvet with my tingling lust; the other, invisible beyond the cloth, where Ginger could see and watch me. I sighed another agreement—“Push it some more,” she instructed. “Take off your robe.”
“I’ll be naked,” I squeaked. Nude! Naked in the face of my captor Ginger! The thought mortified me—yet also aroused me even more! My nudity would be in Ginger’s world beyond my darkness—but how would it feel in my world, trapped inside my blindfold?
“Another form of powerlessness,” Ginger replied. “In every culture in history, rank has been shown with clothing. The Romans allowed patricians to wear blue and purple stripes on their togas. Even now, expensive suits are a mark of prestige. Nakedness is the ultimate in powerlessness—that’s why new-captured slaves were paraded around naked, to remind them that they had no power.” I hesitated—“It’s your choice, Paula,” she reminded me softly. “You can explore your powerlessness, or not.” I know I should have thought about it more, but my imagination was in command—and I loosened my robe and let it fall to the floor! I was naked!
“And now, your last little bits of control,” Ginger said, and I began to sense a warmth, a humidity in her voice. “You’re still able to cover yourself up. And you still have your voice.” And it struck me, Sally, that the two things that usually are first when being tied up had been left for last! First bind the hands, then the gag, then the blindfold, seemed to be the normal, natural way to do this—but Ginger had been very different! She had started with fettering my feet, then blindfolded me. Only now was she taking away what is usually taken first! It felt suddenly odd, and oddly erotic! “And you’re thinking about how sexy it is, right Anne Shirley?” she teased. I nodded, not wanting words to spoil the feelings which were overtaking me. “Here, hold out your hand.” It wasn’t so much a command as an invitation, so I complied. To an accompaniment of her naturally naughty giggle, I felt a rubber ball placed in my hand, with what felt like an elastic band attached—and I knew what she had given me! The ballgag! “Your choice again, Paula,” she murmured. “You can take away your own voice. Your choice.” I pondered that a moment. I was binding myself! I was taking away my freedom, my power even over myself! With each step, I made myself more and more helpless, and with each step my body responded with more and more arousal! My thoughts were short and decisive, and in only moments I had the ballgag looped around my neck as Ginger had done so recently. Remembering her instructions that night, I opened my mouth and gently rolled the ball behind my teeth, settling it inextricably in place. I sighed—as before, the gag reverberated my voice electrically back over my flesh!
“Yes,” Ginger mewled as I set my own gag in my own mouth, and her humid tone made clear to me that she herself was being aroused by my bit-by-bit binding. “You can’t speak now. Your power over words has been taken.” I mewled assent through my gag, and the reverberation stoked me to a welling of moisture! “You’ve lost the power to run. The power to see. The power to speak. And you surrendered them with your own will. You could have removed your blindfold when you gagged yourself, but you didn’t. You could have refused to gag yourself, but you did. Now, there’s one last power left you, Paula. The one power that can give you back all the others Will you keep it or surrender it?” It took me a moment to understand what she meant, but only a moment. My hands! Odd that the what is usually the first thing tied, bound, taken away, was tonight the last thing left me! Now, Ginger took my hand, squeezed it, and in a silent moment she placed something in my grip. My fingers explored it within my darkness and silence, and after long moments I recognized it as a handcuff, one of the pairs I had seen arranged in her room! Now I understood fully! “The last power you have left to surrender, Paula,” she intimated. “When you surrender it, you surrender yourself completely. You will have no power at all, even over yourself. Completely powerless, completely helpless. Completely surrendered.” I considered my position; legs bound, eyes covered, mouth filled, completely naked. I had only my hands, and the means in them to take even that away from myself! And after that long moment taking stock of my situation, letting that thought scatter over my flesh electrically and tease even more moisture from my loins, I fastened a cuff on my left wrist. With a ragged breath which seemed to vibrate from my chest all the way to my center, I put my hands behind my back. My right hand found the open jaws of the manacle held in my left, and I settled my wrist inside them. My left hand took the loose jaw of the cuff—I hesitated for a moment, knowing that I was about to yield up the last of my power, that I was about to make myself completely helpless! And in the next heartbeat, I closed the manacle on my wrist—the latch clicked, not loud but definite and final. I was powerless—totally, utterly, profoundly helpless!
I heard Ginger breathe a ragged breath. My hearing, the only thing left me—not a power at all, merely means of understanding my complete powerlessness—had become oddly sensitive, and I fancied I could hear not just her breath, the shuffle of her feet on the floor, but the emotions which motivated them. And in Ginger’s breath I heard—felt—arousal, desire! I fancied even further that I could feel her gaze on me, almost as if it was a physical touch on my suddenly-perspiring skin! “So…you’re powerless now, Paula. Completely helpless. You control nothing, not even your own body. You can’t run. You can’t see. You can’t speak. You can’t resist. You can’t even cover yourself up.” Each humid word stoked my own arousal, squeezed more and more moisture all over me! “I can do anything to you I want, and you can do nothing to stop me. I even have your life in my hands!” It struck me that it was true—with my mouth filled with the ballgag, I could only breathe through my nose, and all she would have to do is pinch it shut to snuff out my life! Strangely, the thought didn’t frighten me; it only drowned me even deeper in my glowing arousal! “Can you imagine, Paula?” she taunted in a husky voice. “All the things I could do to you, and you have no power to stop any of it! Think back, Paula,” she intimated, whispered in my ear, and I could sense her heat! “All the things you saw in here. All my toys. I can use any of them on you I want, and you have already surrendered yourself to them! Imagine, Paula. Just imagine!” Oh, Sally, imagine indeed! My imagination was glowing with lurid suggestions of what was about to happen to me!
I must pause again, Sally. Just remembering those moments, my first moments of total, complete powerlessness, my total surrender to Ginger, wash me over with arousal, and I must pause. I’ll be back very soon to tell you more of the profound lesson Ginger taught me!
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